A Witch out of Place
by The Offbeat Alchemist
Summary: -Legend of Kyrandia X-over- While attending Morwen and Telamain's wedding, a young witch is accidentally sent to another world after she chases a foolish young wizard. Will she ever make it home again?
1. Wedding Day Blues

**CHAPTER ONE: WEDDING DAY BLUES  
**

Vanora looked at the spectacle around her and stifled a sigh. Wedding receptions were the worst place to be when one wanted to be alone. Witches of all shapes, colors and sizes milled around her, bombarding her senses with their chatter and laughter. The air hummed from having so many spell casters in one place, but no one else seemed to notice. Vanora was miserable, but as a fellow witch, she was expected to attend.

So she fulfilled her obligation by congratulating the couple before retreating to the nearest corner. She was taller than most witches, but she had always been able to go unnoticed when she wanted to, even in large crowds. No one paid any attention as she ducked behind the group of chattering witches. Once she had a few pieces of furniture between her and the crowd, she felt better.

Morwen, the bride, owned one of those magic houses that somehow stretched to fit any number of guests, without ever looking any bigger. Nearly all houses owned by witches were enchanted in some way or another. In fact, the only witch home in the entire Enchanted Forest that didn't have any spell, charm, enchantment or trick of any kind was Vanora's. Most other witches thought it was odd, but she didn't care. Her mother had loved the little cabin just the way it was and Vanora refused to tamper with it in any way.

Most people were surprised when she told them she was a witch. "You don't look really like one," they always said. "Well, what do I look like?" she always shot back. No one ever answered. Vanora's mother, on the other hand, was never mistaken for anything else. She always wore black robes, black boots with laces and pointy toes, striped stockings, silver spectacles, and always kept her graying hair pulled back in a neat bun. A spell book was always tucked under one arm, and a gray-eyed cat always followed at her heels.

Vanora wore plain tunics and skirts and always left her strawberry-blond curls loose. She studied spells and enchantments and other witch-like things, even though she didn't feel any more like a witch than she looked like one. Her mother had been a witch, her grandmother had been a witch, and so on and so on, all down the family line. Growing up, Vanora often felt like she was born into the wrong family.

But after her mother passed away, she picked up her mother's books and continued with the proud family legacy.

She withdrew a small book from her tunic now and started skimming it. She tried hard to drown out the clutter of voices and concentrate on the words, but she felt like someone was staring at her. She ignored it for as long as she could stand it before tearing her eyes from the page; no one in the room was looking at her. It looked like they had forgotten she was even around, but the feeling persisted. Vanora's green eyes scanned the area until they rested on one of the windows.

It was dark outside, so the only thing visible was a pair of gray eyes, illuminated by the light in the room. Vanora quickly put her book away and slipped outside.

"What's up, Doyle?" she asked.

A sleek male cat darker than the night sky leaped from the window ledge and landed silently near her feet. "Let's go for a walk," he suggested, his voice low.

Vanora followed as Doyle darted away from the house, knowing his odd behavior meant something funny was going on. When they were out of sight of the small house, Doyle stopped walking and sat in the grass.

"You look unhappy," Vanora noted.

"It's Behelak."

Vanora stiffened at the name. He was a wizard who had bothered her for as long as she could remember. He was a sneaky fellow who crept around (and sometimes in) witches homes, looking for magic items and secrets to steal. Despite wizards being barred from entering the Enchanted Forest, Behelak continued to sneak in and out. In a course of action that had him labeled a blithering idiot by other wizards, he left his staff at home. Without his staff leeching magic from the air he could go completely undetected...if his clumsiness didn't give him away instead.

"What's he doing here?"

Doyle looked grim. "I thought he was just snooping around like he always does, but I think he's finally found something that could make all our lives...unpleasant."

Vanora folded her arms. "What did he find?" she pressed as Doyle took a moment to clean his paw. He often paused for dramatic affect, but she wasn't in the mood for theatrics.

"A mirror. I saw him carrying it. I heard Chairwitch Archaniz talking about it a few weeks ago and I know it must be the same one.

"A mirror," Vanora repeated. "What does it do?"

"It's enchanted."

"I already guessed that part. Enchanted to do what?"

"Mystical travel."

Doyle stood up and lightly brushed her ankles. "All someone has to do is hold an image of a place in their mind and the mirror sends them there. To go back, they just picture home. A person can go anywhere in the world, even if they've never been there before. All they need is a clear mental image and they can slip in and out completely unnoticed, if they wanted to."

Vanora didn't like the sound of that. It was a simple tool, but she had learned at a young age that wizards couldn't be trusted with even the most harmless of items.

"Where is he now?"

"He went that way," replied Doyle, pointing to a group of trees with his paw. "I was going to follow him, but I thought I should come tell you first."

"I hope he hasn't used it already," muttered Vanora.

A commotion rose up in the house behind him. Vanora glanced over her shoulder. "Sounds like the guests of honor finally arrived," commented Doyle.

"Who're they?" wondered Vanora.

The sleek cat gave her an exasperated look. "The King and Queen of the Enchanted Forest, of course. Morwen has known them for years."

Vanora wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Let's go."

"Don't you want to meet them?"

"You know how I feel about royalty."

Doyle followed her as she headed for the trees, tail twitching. "They can't all be mindless snobs. I've heard good things about these two."

"Maybe, but we don't have time to find out."

The pair hurried into the darkened forest, leaving the lively party behind. Vanora reached her hand out and felt the air; there was no sign of anyone passing through recently, but an invisible line buzzing faintly in the open air indicated that a powerful object had been there recently. She and Doyle quickly followed the unseen path and could soon hear the young wizard pushing through the brush ahead of them.

The moon was full and bright and Vanora was able to spot Behelak's bright hair easily. Doyle vanished into the bushes as she reached out to shove a branch out of her way. "Where are you going with that?" she called.

Caught off-guard, Behelak spun around. His green robes seemed to meld with the trees around him, but his blond hair glowed in the moonlight. The mirror he clutched tightly in his hands glowed, too, as it captured the moon in its surface.

Behelak licked his lips nervously. "Hey, Vanora."

Vanora was looking at the mirror. It looked like an ordinary wall mirror with a fancy silver frame, but as she drew closer she could feel its power. Behelak drew back as she neared.

"I don't think that belongs to you."

"You're not making a fool out of me again," Behelak snapped. "I'm taking this back to my father. They'll stop laughing at me after this."

"Trinkets won't make them stop laughing if you still trip over your own two feet," she pointed out.

Behelak scowled and held the mirror like he wanted to bash it over her head, but that would spoil his plans. "You can't stop me this time," he told her. "So just...leave me alone, okay?"

Vanora smirked. "Your threats need work, Bel."

In her mind she was trying to figure out how she was going to get the mirror away from him. He wasn't any threat without his staff, but she knew she couldn't start flinging spells at him; they would probably bounce off the mirror and come right back at her. Her only other option was to get physical, and she had stopped enjoying wrestling with him when she was ten.

Vanora was steeling herself to tackle him when Doyle, nearly invisible in the darkness, darted out of the bushes. He shot towards Behelak and threw his weight against the back of his leg.

Behelak let out a yelp and stumbled forward. Not particularly wanting him to fall on her, Vanora threw her hands out and pushed him away. She watched in horror as he lost his balance and fell. The mirror flew from his hands.

She reached out for it, but it sailed away from her fingers and shattered against a thick tree. Stunned, she could only stare as the pieces fell to the ground, glistening like falling stars. A wave of pain and nausea struck her as the magic contained in the mirror broke free and flooded the area. Vanora shielded her face with her arms as her mind scrambled to pull a protective spell together, but it was too late. The magic overcame her and she fell to the ground, unconscious.

She came back to her senses slowly. The moon had moved on, leaving the forest completely dark. Small insects and a growing wind were the only sounds around her. Vanora put her hands on the ground and started to push herself up, but she paused. Soft, damp moss squished beneath her palms. The air around her was moist and fragrant. Her eyes slowly adapted to the darkness and she looked around; clumps of trees with dirty trunks and long, gnarled roots surrounded her. Moss-covered stones dotted her vision. Cattails waved in the wind. She was in a swamp.

An image of the shattered mirror flashed through her mind. It wasn't long before she realized what must have happened and she quickly got to her feet.

"Doyle?" she called uncertainly.

Silence. She tried again. "Behelak?"

No answer. Wherever she was, she was alone.

_I hope I didn't end up too far from home_, she thought. Wrapping her arms around herself, Vanora started walking down a muddy path as thunder rumbled overhead.


	2. A Horrific Discovery

**CHAPTER TWO: A HORRIFIC DISCOVERY**

Vanora grew more discouraged with each step she took. The swamp was huge, and the giant trees grew so close together she could only catch faint glimpses of the sky between the canopy of leaves. Several times she nearly stepped into a pool of water as she groped her way through the darkness. There was still no sign of either Doyle or Behelak, or any other living creature, for that matter. Thunder continued to rumble all around her.

Her head was still fuzzy from her impromptu trip and it didn't occur to her until she had wandered for over an hour that she could light her way. Muttering to herself, she quickly gathered together a small pile of twigs. They were a little moist, but it would do. Vanora held her hands over the kindling and chanted a simple fire spell, the first spell she had ever learned.

Nothing happened.

Frowning, she tried again. Still nothing. She changed the words slightly and chanted louder even though she was positive she was saying it right. When that failed, she tried a different chant altogether. She couldn't pull out even the tiniest spark.

Growing irritated, she went through every form of fire starter she had ever heard. Finally, in sheer frustration, she yelled out the most elaborate combustion spell she knew. Misused, it could ignite the entire forest of trees around her.

Not even a puff of smoke. Vanora straightened and stared down at her hands like she was laying eyes on them for the first time. Her right hand trembled a little as she raised it to feel the air. The only thing that touched her skin was the wind.

Certain she was wrong, Vanora continued to pat at the air like she was trying to brush away a buzzing fly. No matter which way she turned, there was no sign of the faithful hum of magic that had surrounded her since the day she was born.

Now trembling all over, Vanora sank to her knees and buried her face in her hands. There was only one explanation; she wasn't in the Enchanted Forest anymore. And away from its natural thrum of power, she had no idea how to cast spells.

Tears were ready to fall, but she dashed them away and stood. Sitting around crying wouldn't get her home. And she knew she could get back to her little house without magic. The mirror couldn't possibly have sent her to a place she couldn't walk back from.

Feeling better, Vanora brushed herself off and started walking again. She hadn't gone very far when the sound of raindrops hitting the leaves overhead reached her ears. A spattering of drops hit her arm. Shivering, she quickened her pace. The rain fell faster by the minute, and before long she was soaked through. No longer feeling very confident, Vanora searched blindly for shelter.

She gasped slightly as she bumped into something hard. Squinting in the darkness, she felt along a rough, flat surface and became certain it was a wall. Growing excited, she continued to feel around and soon found a door. Vanora was filled with relief.

Hoping the owner wouldn't mind an unexpected guest at this hour, she knocked on the door. No one answered. She knocked louder. After waiting several minutes and still no one came, Vanora tried to peer in the front window. Everything was so dark, she might as well have been staring into the mouth of a cave.

Sighing, she turned from the window and huddled against the wall. The roof hung over the side far enough to block the rain, but there was nothing to shield her from the wind. Vanora shrank as far against the wall as she could and rubbed her arms as the wind pierced through her sopping clothes. She shivered uncontrollably.

The rain began to slow, until only a faint drizzle remained. Vanora's eyes were getting used to the heavy darkness of the swap, and without the thick rainfall she could see fairly clearly. In front of her was a wide, mossy path, and beyond it was more swamp water. The murky green water faded away into the blackness. Vanora couldn't be sure, but she thought some of the bubbles looked like they weren't popping up due to the raindrops softly hitting the surface.

The wind suddenly shifted direction, causing a sweet fragrance to tease her nose. She hadn't seen any flowers during her walk, but if she could smell them they had to be somewhere nearby. The thought of bright wild flowers hiding in this dreary place cheered her a little. Maybe she could find them when the sun rose.

Vanora forgot about the flowers as she heard movement nearby. Squinting, she peered down the dark mossy path. Whatever it was, it sounded small.

"Doyle?"

Instead of her faithful cat, a small boy came into view. He had dark brown hair, cropped so it hugged his round head. His eyes were large and dark, and his ears came to tall points. Despite the chilly weather, he wasn't wearing a shirt.

He wasn't wearing pants, either. His bottom half was covered in thick brown fur, complete with a stubby tail at his rear. Instead of pink toes, he had tiny black hooves, like a goat. Vanora had never seen anything like him.

"Uh, hello," she said uncertainly.

The dark eyes blinked at her. He turned and vanished into the bushes without a sound. He appeared and disappeared so quickly, Vanora wasn't sure if he had ever been there at all. Maybe her situation was making her a little goofy.

A clap of thunder made her forget the strange creature. "Great," she muttered.

The rain was returning with gusto. Vanora quickly moved away from the wall and reached for the door. She could just imagine how her mother would look if she were there, watching her daughter as she thought about going into a strange house.

She would peer over her silver spectacles, her lips pursed in disapproval. "You shouldn't go in there," she would say. "No one invited you. It would be rude."

Thunder roared overhead. "Sorry, mom," murmured Vanora.

She turned the heavy iron handle; it was unlocked and gave easily. Vanora pushed open the thick wooden door and hurried inside as the rain started to pour again. She quickly closed the door, leaving herself in total darkness.

Vanora didn't dare move. Probably the first thing she would knock over would be breakable and irreplaceable. She remained still and tried to stop shivering.

The room was full of different odors. Old wood growing damp from the rain; a faint wisp of a recently cooked meal; clean linen. There were a few other scents she couldn't name, but they seemed familiar. Vanora scanned the darkened area, trying to make out any shapes. As her eyes adjusted she could swear she saw a tiny point of light. It was very dim and looked like it was floating in the air.

After hesitating for several minutes, Vanora slowly reached out into the darkness. Her hand didn't touch anything, so she experimentally slid her foot forward. The floor beneath her feet was wooden and smooth. She took another sliding step. Her toes bumped something soft.

Vanora knelt to touch it and discovered it was just a rug. She took another step forward, and another, until her hand brushed something hard. She felt around and realized it was a table, and the point of light was sitting on it. After making sure there was nothing on the floor in front of her, Vanora moved closer.

Up close, the light didn't look very mysterious. It looked like a simple glass lamp, only someone had left a cloth over it. She carefully removed it. The light grew brighter and illuminated the entire room in a red, fire-like glow.

She had uncovered a jar, not a lamp. Sitting inside it was something that looked like a berry. Actually, it looked exactly like a berry, and it was glowing vibrantly.

Enchanted, Vanora lifted the jar and held it up. She didn't feel any hint of magic. She had heard of glowing foliage before, but she had never pictured anything like this.

With her new light source in hand, Vanora looked around. She was standing in a simple cottage with hardwood floors and stone walls. Rugs and drapes gave it some color, though in the red light she couldn't tell what color they actually were. Sitting off to the side was a fat black cauldron.

Vanora went over and peered inside, but it was empty. It didn't appear to be anything out of the ordinary. She returned to the table where she found the mysterious glowing berry.

It was covered with glass bottles, old books, beakers full of colorful liquid and many other objects that could easily be used in magic study. Vanora was certain she had stumbled into a witch's house.

Feeling much better, she continued to explore. A nearby open doorway led to what looked like a laundry room. There was a set of stairs in the back corner, probably leading to an upstairs bedroom.

_You shouldn't snoop_, she heard her mother say.

Stifling a sigh, Vanora went to the front window. It was still pouring outside. She couldn't go back out there now, so she would leave as soon as it stopped. Maybe the owner wasn't even coming back tonight. They would never even know she was there.

With that in mind, Vanora returned the jar to the table and covered it again. The room was plunged back into darkness. It was probably her imagination, but she felt colder, too.

Rubbing her damp arms, she went and sat on one of the rugs. She was thinking about curling up and trying to sleep when the front door swung open. Yellow light filled the room.

Startled, Vanora looked up. A woman was standing in the doorway. She was dressed in a simple white tunic and blue skirt. Golden hair hung to her waist. She had her hand on her hip and was glaring at her.

"Who are you and what are you doing in my house?" she demanded.

"I was just... I mean, the rain..."

Vanora closed her mouth to stop her stammering and got to her feet. She smoothed her dirty clothes as best she could. "I'm awfully sorry," she began. "I'm afraid I've gotten lost, and then it started to rain... I shouldn't have trespassed. I'm sorry. I'll leave right away."

The woman set the lamp she was holding down and came closer. Placing her other hand on her other hip, she looked Vanora over from head to toe. "You certainly aren't from around here," she declared. "Did you get lost while on vacation or something?"

Vanora shook her head. "No... I'm here by accident."

"Accident," the woman repeated. "I don't understand."

Vanora looked down at her hands. "I don't really understand it myself. You see, this is what happened..."

She explained about Behelak's theft and the shattering of the mirror. "When I woke up, I was here," she finished.

The woman was lighting lamps that hung from the ceiling by chains. The glass globes that housed the flames were simple, but effective.

"And you don't have any idea where you are now?"

"No," replied Vanora sadly. "I come from the Enchanted Forest."

"Never heard of it."

Vanora gave a start. "Excuse me?"

"You're in Darkmoor Swamp," the woman told her. She turned to Vanora and studied her blank expression. "No idea, huh? You really _are_ a long way from home."

"I sure hope not," said Vanora nervously.

"If you've never heard of Kyrandia before, I'd say that you are."

Vanora continued to stare blankly at her hands. She twisted the front of her skirt as her worries grew. "If I have no idea where I am, and you have no idea where I'm from...how am I going to get home?" she asked weakly.

The woman let out a heavy sigh. Vanora thought she looked a little exasperated as she marched into the laundry room. "You can stay here for the night," she called over her shoulder. "In the morning I'll figure out what to do with you."

She returned with a blanket and tossed it at her feet. "I haven't a spare bed," she said.

"Here is fine..."

Vanora sat on the warm rug and untangled the blanket. "By the way, I'm Zanthia. You?"

"I'm Vanora. Nice to meet you."

Instead of returning the comment, Zanthia started blowing out the lamps. Vanora almost objected before she remembered the strange berry. She could always uncover it if...

_You're a little old to be afraid of the dark_, she scolded herself.

When only the lamp nearest the window remained lit, Zanthia left the room through a door behind the cluttered table. Vanora started to lay down when she heard a scratching sound. She looked up and saw familiar gray eyes peering at her through the window.

Almost crying tears of relief, Vanora hurried to open the door. Doyle slipped between her ankles and into the house without a sound. She closed the door and sat on the blanket as Doyle started cleaning himself.

"I was so worried I was here alone," she whispered, overjoyed.

"So was I," said Doyle in his usual low tones. "I couldn't make out any familiar scents in this rain."

"It's worse than that," Vanora told him, almost whimpering as she spoke. She explained what she had just learned. Doyle stopped cleaning himself and stared at her.

"You can't be serious."

"I'm afraid it's true. We aren't anywhere near the Enchanted Forest. And it gets worse; I can't cast spells here."

Doyle sat up straighter. "That _is _bad. It shouldn't bother Behelak, though. He goes without his staff all the time anyway."

"Is he here, too?"

"I don't know. I didn't see any sign of him, but since you and I are here, it's probably safe to assume he's nearby."

Vanora reached out and scooped him into her arms. Doyle disliked affection, but he tolerated her hug for a minute or so before slipping out of her grasp.

"I'm glad I have you, at least," Vanora told him with a weak smile.

"Do I hear a cat?"

Zanthia came back into the room. She frowned when she spotted Doyle. "Is he yours?"

"Yes, he's..."

Doyle stood. "I'll sleep outside. I don't think she likes me."

"But..."

"But what? I didn't say anything," said Zanthia.

Vanora glanced at her before getting up and opening the door. It appeared no one could understand her cat except her. At least _that_ rule still applied here.

"If he stays outside, can I keep him here?"

"Keep him anywhere you like, as long as he doesn't knock over my work."

"I'll go out anyway," Doyle told Vanora. "I still want to explore. I'll tell you everything I've seen in the morning."

He darted out into the night. Vanora closed the door sadly. "I'm going to bed," said Zanthia. She mounted the stairs and was gone. Vanora returned to the rug and pulled the blanket over herself.

She could scarcely believe the situation she was in. She felt better with Doyle near, but she still had to fight back frightened tears throughout the lonely night. She kept picturing a beautiful little valley full of wild flowers and bright green plants. Soft grass ruffled in the breeze. And near the tree line sat a simple cabin, plain and quaint, yet the most wonderful house in the world so far as Vanora was concerned.

As she drifted into a fitful sleep, she wondered if she would ever see her home again.


	3. A Strange Meeting

**CHAPTER THREE: A STRANGE MEETING  
**

Vanora awoke the next morning feeling unrested and cranky. She stretched her stiff limbs, making them pop. She was sore from sleeping on the floor; the rug didn't make very good padding.

After untangling the knotted curls hanging around her eyes, Vanora sat up and looked around. The cottage wasn't very bright, even in the daytime. The sun wasn't able to shine through the thick swamp trees very well. A person couldn't do intricate sewing or prolonged reading in this environment, that was for sure.

While she was still yawning and rubbing her tired eyes, Zanthia strolled into the room and lit a candle on her work table. "I was beginning to think you were going to sleep all day," she said.

Vanora began folding the blanket. "What time is it?" she wondered.

"Almost noon. I've already finished most of my work." She grabbed an empty glass flask from the table and headed to the front door with it. "I'm going out for a bit," she announced. "The kitchen is over there," she added, pointing to the closed door. "It's cold by now, but I left you some breakfast."

After she was gone, Vanora got to her feet and went to place the blanket on a nearby chair. Hanging over the back of it was a clean outfit. Curious, Vanora held it up; it was a plain white blouse and brown skirt. She was a hair taller than Zanthia, but it looked like it would fit. Vanora gratefully changed out of her dirty clothes before heading into the kitchen.

A bowl filled with something that looked sort of like oatmeal was waiting on the small kitchen table. She was reminded all over again that she could no longer do magic as the idea of heating the cold bowl flickered through her mind. Sighing heavily, she sat down and ate it the way it was.

It wasn't very good, but it wasn't horrible, either. It probably tasted better heated. Vanora glanced around the small kitchen as she wondered which cabinet housed the herbs and spices. The food couldn't get any colder while she got up to look, but it wouldn't be polite to start rummaging without Zanthia's permission. She felt quite gloomy as she placed the empty bowl on a stack of dirty dishes and returned to the main room of the house. Having nothing else to do, she took a closer look at everything.

In the daylight she could now see that Zanthia liked to decorate with rugs, drapes and tapestries, and that she had a fondness for blues and purples. The wall near the cauldron was half-hidden by an elegant blue drape, tied in place with a gold cord. The rug Vanora slept on was dark blue, with finely embroidered purple and white detailing. A small table draped with a dark purple cloth sat near the front window. Resting on it was a stack of papers and a small ink well.

Vanora was more interested in the cluttered work table. She peered closely at each object, careful not to bump anything as she nosed around them. Among the objects she found an old scrap of paper. She cautiously picked it up, trying not to disrupt the beaker sitting on the corner of the page. Written on it was something that looked like a spell.

"Snowman Spell," she read aloud. "Ingredients needed: charcoal, moss, and snow, which can be substituted with ice."

Vanora laughed a little; she couldn't think how a spell like that could possibly be useful, but it wasn't any stranger than some of the spells she had come across back home. As she was setting the paper down again she heard a faint scratching sound.

"Doyle!"

She had nearly forgotten him. She hurried to open the door and the aging but sleek cat darted inside, shook himself and jumped up on the writing table. He sat on the edge with the air of a feline prince and began cleaning his paws.

"I hope you slept well," he said.

"Sort of. Did you find anything?"

"Not anything helpful," he replied, sounding irritated. "Unless you think having a giant toad for a neighbor is useful."

Vanora wrinkled her nose as she pictured a fat, warty creature sitting on a stump in the swamp. "Does he talk?" she wondered.

"Not a lot. The two little toads sitting with him were much more chatty. I think they were having a discussion about mosquitoes."

"Did you try asking them anything?"

"No, I just watched from the window." He gave her a silent look that spoke volumes about his opinion of going into a room full of giant toads.

"And that's _all _you saw?"

Doyle flicked his tail in annoyance. "This place is sopping after last night's rain," he grumbled. "It's hard to navigate. I got chased by an alligator, too."

Vanora frowned in sympathy. "Poor little guy."

Doyle turned to the window with another flick of his tail. "The sun hardly shines here," he observed. "It'll take days for things to dry out."

"I doubt they ever really do," said Vanora pessimistically.

Doyle sat on the window ledge and said nothing. Vanora peered over his small head and saw Zanthia coming back up the path. She came in and set her flask, now filled with a dark green liquid, back on the table. Vanora studied it with fascinated eyes.

"It is hard being a witch here?" she wondered.

She doubted there were very many good ingredients nearby. Zanthia probably had to travel great distances to find what she needed.

When she didn't answer, Vanora looked away from the green flask. Zanthia was staring at her with her hands on her hips. She looked annoyed.

"Witches," she said, with obvious distaste, "are wasteful creatures."

She walked briskly into the laundry room. Vanora watched her leave, feeling confused and insulted.

"But I thought..."

"She's an alchemist," said Doyle from the window.

Vanora looked at him with a puzzled frown. "How do you know?"

"I heard Herb mention it."

"Who?"

"The toad," he explained. "It sounds like another form of magic entirely. Compared to wizards, witches, and magicians, it's much more scientific in nature."

Vanora felt more confused than ever as she lifted the green flask. "It doesn't seem that different to me," she murmured.

She held the thick liquid close to her eyes, as if the tiny bubbles popping up to the surface would answer her questions.

"Vanora!"

Vanora was so startled she nearly dropped the flask. She managed to catch it as she fumbled it back onto the table. Zanthia was standing in the doorway, arms folded in disapproval.

"Don't drink that, you'll have snakes popping out of your scalp."

Vaora recoiled from the potion in a hurry. "Don't touch anything else while you're at it," added Zanthia.

She brought over a small wooden bucket and draped the handle over Vanora's hand. "Here, you look like you need something to do. Go down to the stream and bring back some clean water."

"For more potions?" asked Vanora hopefully.

"No," said Zanthia impatiently. "You slept so late I wasn't able to wash your clothes this morning. I need more water to clean them with."

Vanora flushed a little. "Oh."

Doyle hopped down as she headed to the door. Vanora stopped with her hand on the handle. "Where do I...?"

"Go south," instructed Zanthia. "The path isn't very clear, but if you go straight until you find a fountain, you shouldn't get lost. From the fountain head a little to the west. The stream isn't much further. Just don't wander off, or you'll be lost forever."

"I don't doubt it," muttered Vanora as she left the cottage. Doyle followed at her heels.

Outside, the air was warmer than before. It was still damp, and not at all what Vanora considered cheerful. As she stepped onto the mossy path, she noticed the green patch of water looked like it was gurgling. A pair of round, gooey-looking eyes were peeking out of the bubbles. Vanora stared at them nervously, unsure if it was safe to take another step.

"One other thing," Zanthia called through the window.

Vanora nearly jumped out of her skin.

"Don't go picking any wild flowers or berries," Zanthia told her firmly.

"Why not?" Vanora wanted to do just that, and as soon as she could.

Zanthia looked annoyed by having to explain it. "Because it isn't nice to rip something out of the ground without good reason. And not only that, nearly every living thing in Kyrandia has mystical properties. You don't want to get into something when you don't know what it does."

Vanora sighed impatiently. "Okay, I get it. I won't touch a thing."

"Good."

Zanthia left the window open and turned back inside. Vanora looked down at the water again; the eyes were gone. She stayed close to the house until she was a safe distance away.

Below Zanthia's cottage was more swamp water. The level had risen in last night's downpour, but Vanora could see a group of stones peeking above the surface. She lifted her skirt in her free hand and stepped across them carefully. Doyle leapt nimbly from stone to stone in smooth arcs of his dark body.

"Show off," said Vanora, but she smiled.

Doyle gave her the cat's version of a grin and bounded ahead. The path Zanthia described wasn't much of a path at all. Bits and pieces of brown dirt peeked through the grass and leaves lining the forest floor. In some places the trees were growing in the way. Vanora hoped she was heading in the right direction as she moved around them.

As the distance between her and Zanthia's cottage increased, the swamp trees began to look a little less droopy and mossy. The grass started to look thicker and brighter. The gurgle of the swamp land soaking up the rain slowly faded away behind her.

"It smells cleaner here," Doyle noted.

Vanora thought so, too. She also smelled fir trees and wild flowers. A short time later, she moved past a thick clump of trees and emerged in a fragrant, open forest. The trees surrounding her were so tall they seemed to brush the sky. They were large and close together, but the sun shined down freely between them. Vaora basked in its warmth and took several deep breaths.

"It's nice," was all Doyle had to say.

Feeling a little better, Vanora continued her search for the stream. She watched blossoms blowing in the gentle breeze and colorful birds singing on low branches and couldn't help smiling. The forest reminded her of home. She could swear she almost felt a faint buzzing of magic, too.

With each step she took, the more certain she became that she _did_ feel something. "What's that?" asked Doyle.

Vanora quickened her steps and joined him in a large clearing. "I guess it's the fountain," replied Vanora, a hint of awe in her voice.

The fountain was white and square-shaped, with rounded corners. A crystal orb of some kind rested on each corner, and in the center was the statue of a maiden. She was holding a watering pitcher that was pouring brilliant blue water into the fountain's basin.

Doyle rested his front paws on the rim of the fountain. "I wonder why Zanthia doesn't want this water?" he said as he bent to sniff the crystal clear surface.

Vanora wondered that, too. She set the bucket down and dipped her fingers into the blue water. Her hand began to tingle. "There's magic here," she murmured.

"Better not mess with it, then," warned Doyle.

Vanora hadn't forgotten Zanthia's warning. She removed her hand with a sigh. "Come on. Let's go find that stream."

They moved on. Vanora was starting to feel a little hungry when they came across a lush blueberry bush. "Do you think anyone would notice if I snitched one?" she asked.

"I doubt it, but you better not. You might turn into a frog or something."

"Not likely, but I suppose they could be poisionous." Vanora left the glistening berries alone with a sigh. The didn't walk much further before they found the stream. It was clear and flowing briskly, and sunlight sparkled off the rippling surface. Colorful rocks lined the shallow bottom. It wasn't very deep, but it was much too wide for Vanora to even consider stepping over it. Doyle mounted and nimbly stepped along an old log that was lying partway across the sparkling water.

Vanora bent to fill the bucket while Doyle leaned down to take a taste. "It's good," he decided, "but I don't see any fish."

He returned to the other end of the log and sat regally on its edge. It tipped a little under his weight. "It's lovely," Vanora said with a sigh. "Oh look," she added with a laugh. "There's a squirrel."

Vanora set the bucket at her feet and watched as the tiny creature darted up a nearby tree trunk. It paused its ascent and looked at her, nose switching. Its tail popped around like it had a mind of its own. Vanora laughed again.

"I wouldn't go any closer if I were you," a strange voice behind her said.

Vanora nearly shrieked in surprise. As she spun around to see who had popped out of the blue like that, her foot caught the side of the bucket. The water spilled onto the grass and all over her boots.

Sitting on the far end of the old log was a very peculiar-looking person. He was dressed in a bright outfit that looked like something a court jester would wear, complete with pom-poms hanging from the tips of his shoes. If the tufts of white hair sticking out from under his hat were any indication, he was quite old, but he didn't really look it otherwise.

He was sitting cross-legged and had his pointed chin propped on his folded hands, and was grinning widely in a most unsettling way. Doyle was still sitting on the edge of the log that rested on the ground. He looked just as surprised by the small man's abrupt appearance as she was.

Vanora quickly grew annoyed. She didn't like being startled, and now the water she had gone through so much trouble to get was seeping into the deepest recesses of her favorite boots. "What's wrong with squirrels?" she demanded, not bothering to hide her annoyance.

"Nothing," the odd creature replied with a chuckle. "For Kyrandia, they're quite normal. If you value your fingers, you'll stay away. Find some other place to play."

He spoke in an almost sing-song manner. Vanora glared daggers at him as her irritation mounted. "I'm not playing," she muttered.

Doyle suddenly stood up, arching his back as though he were stretching. "Shall I?"

Vanora was puzzled, but only for a moment. She looked at the old, rickety log Doyle was preparing to launch off of and nodded discreetly.

Doyle leaped back into the grass. The log only shifted slightly with the removal of his slight weight, but it was enough to cause the small, strange man to lose his balance.

He teetered precariously for a moment before he slipped and fell backwards into the shallow stream. Vanora bent to pat Doyle's head before grabbing the bucket.

The soggy mess of a jester was sputtering and wiping water out of his eyes. "So you like pranks, do you? The game is on, then. You have _no_ idea who you're messing with."

Vanora just laughed as she refilled the bucket. With Doyle following closely at her feet, she started the long walk back to Zanthia's, leaving the odd fellow alone with his rantings.


	4. Vanora Makes a Friend

**CHAPTER FOUR: VANORA MAKES A FRIEND**

By the time Vanora returned to Zanthia's cottage, her stomach was growling loudly for lunch. "I'm back," she called as she pushed the heavy front door open. "I hope I brought enough water," she added, not wanting to have to walk all the way back to the stream again.

Inside the cottage, the air was perfumed with a warm, gentle fragrance. Zanthia breezed out of the kitchen and took the bucket from her. "I know you missed lunch, so I baked some bread," she told her. "There's some jam in the cabinet, if you like," she added before heading into the laundry room.

Vanora hurried to grab a slice. Doyle followed at her heels, meowing for a bite. After the two finished the loaf together, they returned to the main room. Zanthia was getting ready to go out again.

"Where are you off to this time?" wondered Vanora, feeling a little cross by the idea of being left alone again.

Zanthia gave her a 'that's none of your business' look. "We Mystics are busy people, you know." She took a moment to secure a leather travel bag around her waist. Vanora looked at Doyle and mouthed 'What's a Mystic?'

Doyle gave the cat's version of a shrug and started on his after-meal bath. "Don't touch anything while I'm gone," Zanthia called as she opened the front door.

"I didn't forget from the last time you told me," muttered Vanora.

"Just making sure. Your clothes are clean and drying in the laundry room, by the way."

The young alchemist closed the door with a thump. Vanora let out a sigh and sat down on the blue rug. "Sitting around isn't going to get us home," she grumbled.

Doyle stopped licking his paws and sat down beside her. "We've only just arrived, and this is a strange place. It's best for us to spend some time getting to know this land before we go searching for a way back to the Enchanted Forest."

"Maybe," agreed Vanora reluctantly. "But I hate doing nothing."

"I know," sighed Doyle. "You're so unlike your mother."

Vanora could already hear her mother's voice even without Doyle's reminder. "Patience is the quickest path to what you seek," she would say. "A steady, clear mind always reaches the destination sooner than a mind clouded by worry and haste."

Repeating her mother's words to herself while picturing the dainty woman sitting quietly and painstakingly constructing a spell didn't stop Vanora from fidgeting uncontrollably. As the minutes ticked by, she grew more and more restless, until she was on her feet and pacing the room. Doyle watched her through narrowed lids, knowing it was only a matter of time before she gave up trying to be patient and went looking for trouble.

Finally, the young witch threw her hands in the air. "I can't stand it anymore," she exclaimed. "I need some air."

"Would you like me to go with you?" asked Doyle as she hurried for the door.

"No, I'll only be gone a minute," Vanora promised before hastily stepping outside and closing the door behind her.

Outside, the swamp was still darker than she was used to, though it was brighter than before. The air was filled with the scent of rotting wood and wet moss, scents Vanora wasn't overly familiar with. Undaunted, she started down the damp path, heading in the opposite direction from where she went earlier.

The damp grass squished beneath her feet as she headed north of Zanthia's cottage. The thick trees, still sagging beneath the weight of the raindrops saturating their leaves, cast long shadows across her way. Vanora almost didn't see it when the path curved next to a river-like stream of swamp water the color of mud. She stopped herself just as she was about to stumble over the edge and backed up with a grumble. The water bubbled like it was laughing at her.

Jutting from the muddy shore was a small dock, and tied to it was a tiny boat built for one. Vanora couldn't imagine boating in a swamp being a very enjoyable pastime, and quickly moved on.

The path wound to her left for a bit before the trees opened up to form a small clearing. As Vanora entered, she had to pause as she remembered how she had stumbled around in the dark last night. She knew she must have passed through this way and was very glad she made it through unharmed.

Across from her was a tangle of leaves and vines, and resting in the mix were two very large plants, with stems like tree-trunks and heads like an alligator's mouth. She stood as still as she could as she stared, trying not to imagine what would have happened if she had accidentally bumped into them while she fumbled around in the darkness.

Maybe it was the heavy rainfall, but Vanora thought the pair looked sleepy. One of them even spread its jaws like it was yawning as she watched. She felt relieved by the sight, since she was pretty sure they weren't about to take notice and start snapping at her, but she decided not to take any chances. Moving quietly, she backed slowly away before turning around and hurrying back to the cottage.

Doyle was curled up on the blue rug, peacefully napping the afternoon away. Vanora sat down at Zanthia's writing desk and watched out the window until Zanthia came back, several hours later.

Vanora hastily set down the letter she was reading and got up from the desk. "Welcome back," she said.

Zanthia gave a nod of acknowledgement before breezing through the room and into the kitchen. "I hope your day was more productive than mine," she added under her breath.

Vanora sat down next to Doyle, who was lounging next to the cauldron. A few minutes later, Zanthia called her into the kitchen to help her with dinner.

"I'm not used to cooking for anyone but myself, so I'd appreciate it if you could light the candles and set the table," she instructed. "The candles are in that drawer, and the dishes are up there," she added, pointing to each place with the wooden spoon she was holding.

While Zanthia tinkered with whatever was cooking on the stove, Vanora found fresh taper candles, which she placed in the holders on the kitchen table. After lighting them, she went digging in the high cabinet Zanthia pointed at. "Do you need bowls or plates?" she asked as she eyed the stacks of dishes.

"Both. Utensils are in that drawer," she added, pointing again.

Vanora grabbed two bowls, two plates, a handful of utensils and was soon finished setting the table. Dinner turned out to be soup and salad, and it was much, much better than breakfast had been.

Dinner conversation was light. In fact, if it weren't for the scattered comments Doyle made under the table, the evening would have passed by in complete silence. Vanora was getting the feeling Zanthia wasn't used to having a guest. She wasn't the warmest person she had ever encountered, that was for sure.

After leaving Vanora to wash the dishes, Zanthia went upstairs. "You look unhappy," Doyle noted as Vanora scrubbed at a bowl.

"I'm stranded in a strange land, and I have no idea how to get home again...do you really expect me to look happy?"

"I meant with your current situation. Specifically, your hostess."

Vanora was quiet as she finished wiping the last dish. "She's not like anyone I've ever met, if that's what you mean," she said as she dried her hands. "She's so...crisp, I guess. She's not outright rude, but she's..."

The young witch glanced over her shoulder to make sure Zanthia wasn't around before shrugging. She went over to blow out the candles. "She has an air around her, like she's really, really sure of herself."

"Self-confidence is a good thing," said Doyle mildly.

"I guess, but it's more like she's sure that she's better than everyone else."

"Maybe she is, as far as her craft is concerned," said Doyle as he followed Vanora into the main room of the house. "Or maybe she's used to being surrounded by inept people."

Vanora didn't reply; Zanthia was kneeling on the blue rug, and was busy rolling out something white. She set the blanket Vanora had used last night next to it, still folded neatly, and stood. "I don't have a spare bed, so this pallet will have to do. Good night."

Vanora watched her leave the room. "Good night," she called as Zanthia headed upstairs.

"That was nice of her," said Doyle as he inspected the pallet.

Vanora was quiet as she unfolded the blanket. "Are you going out?" she asked as she lay down.

"It isn't raining," replied Doyle. He took a moment to stretch before padding across the hard floor. "Besides, I didn't get any dinner, and who knows...I might bump into Behelak, still stumbling around out there."

An image of the silly young wizard popped into Vanora's head, wandering through the darkness, sopping wet and whimpering like a frightened puppy. She smiled.

Light as a breeze, Doyle leaped from the floor to the ledge of the open window. "I bet she isn't used to being around someone who's as self-confident as she is," he commented.

Vanora gave him a funny look. "Who? Zanthia?"

"Who else? Sleep well, little witch," said Doyle, before he disappeared into the night.

Vanora sighed heavily as she pulled the blanket to her chin. "I'm not sure I should be called that anymore," she murmured aloud. "And I'm not that confident."

Like the night before, Zanthia had left the lamp closest to the desk lit. With the window open, the breeze pushed and tugged at the small flame, causing the shadows to dance wildly on the walls. Vanora watched them with sleepy eyes, until the fire was blown out completely.

Paired with the soft sounds of the night, the darkness didn't feel threatening. Vanora listened to the gentle songs of the insects and night birds until she was lulled to sleep. In her dreams she saw visions of home, of the Enchanted Forest and all her favorite places.

When she awoke the next morning, she felt calmer than she did yesterday, but there was a deep sadness in her heart. She lay still and listened to a lone bird, up at daybreak and greeting the sun. Everything was different here, but Vanora decided that she liked the wildlife. She couldn't say much about the people, since the only person she knew was Zanthia. She wondered if anyone else lived in Darkmoor Swamp...other than the toads Doyle said he saw.

Vanora was thinking about taking another walk when she felt something tickling her back. Thinking it was the affects of sleep wearing off, Vanora wiggled against the pallet for a moment. The feeling persisted, and as she wiggled harder, she swore that it felt like the tickling was traveling further down her back.

Vanora froze as a cold chill ran through her; there was something _moving_ under her pallet.

She bolted up and scurried away in a hurry, flinging the blanket across the floor in her haste. She hadn't seen any bugs in the cottage, but she was bound to run into a few, sleeping on the floor like this. She hoped she hadn't crushed any.

Her moment of shock passed quickly and she knelt beside the pallet, tentatively lifting a corner to peek beneath it. What she saw made her draw the slim bedding aside completely and stare at the floor blankly.

A pile of what looked like bits of tree root was tucked under her pallet, only they were...wiggling.

Grimacing, Vanora lifted a piece between her fingertips and held it up so she could see it better. It squirmed like a bark-covered worm, and she dropped it in a hurry.

"It's gnarly bark," a voice behind her said.

This time Vanora shrieked out loud as she spun around, her eyes darting over the room as she tried to locate the mystery speaker. She was growing a little tired of all the surprises; back home, she was hardly ever taken by surprise. Here in Kyrandia, things that made her jump seemed like a daily occurrence.

It took her a moment to locate the speaker. He was sitting on Zanthia's desk, stubby legs dangling over the side as he watched her. It was the same child-creature she saw the night she arrived in the swamp.

As her heart began slowing down again, Vanora smoothed her wrinkled skirt and eyed the odd being suspiciously. "Did you put those there?" she asked, pointing to the ever-writhing bark.

The small creature looked confused by the question. "Me? Why would I do that?"

"I don't know. But you _look_ like the type who enjoys playing pranks."

"I don't," he said defensively. He folded his arms and pouted for a moment. "Okay, I _do_, but I didn't do _that_. Honest."

Vanora didn't quite believe him, but it was a harmless enough trick, so she decided to forget about it. She retrieved her blanket from the floor and began brushing it off. The child-like creature hopped down from the desk and trotted closer, his hooves clacking on the wooden floor.

"I've never seen Zanthia have a house-guest before," he said. "Besides me, that is."

Vanora stopped folding the blanket and looked at him curiously. "You stay here?" She looked around the room for a moment, finding it hard to picture someone so small sleeping there. Her eye fell on a set of shelves in the corner near the cauldron, half-hidden by a purple curtain. Vanora had noticed it earlier, but just assumed it was Zanthia's. Now she realized the shelves were small and low to the floor.

"Is that yours?" she asked, pointing to the corner.

"Uh huh. Here, let me get rid of this junk for you."

Vanora watched as the little creature trotted by, gathered up the gnarly bark in his small arms and ran out the front door, which was part-way open for some reason. It didn't seem to bother him at all, but Vanora doubted she could stand the feeling of the wriggling roots against her bare skin.

The funny little being returned as she finished rolling up the pallet. "I'm back," he announced cheerfully. He trotted over and sat down on the rug. "I'm Faun, by the way."

"I'm Vanora. Nice to meet you."

Vanora set her blanket next to the rolled-up pallet and sat with her knees tucked to her chest as she eyed her new friend. Faun studied her just as curiously. "I come from the forest south of here," he explained. "It's nice there, but it's lonely, and I have trouble finding food since I'm so small. Zanthia felt sorry for me and set up a place for me to sleep here, but I basically come and go as I please."

"I see," said Vanora, wondering if it was hard for Zanthia to share her personal space like that. "Does she mind you much?" she asked, after hesitating for several moments. She was also wondering just how well her own presence was being tolerated.

"I drive her nuts," said Faun with a grin. "But Zanthia doesn't let anyone in her house that she doesn't like. She's a good person, she just has lousy people skills."

Vanora felt her dreary mood fade away as she started to laugh. Faun spoke with such energy and enthusiasm, she couldn't help but cheer up. "You act like you don't get to talk to someone very often," she commented with another laugh.

"I don't," admitted faun. "Not to someone who talks back, anyway. I talk to the frog outside a lot, when Zanthia isn't around, but he's too dumb to talk."

"Frog," repeated Vanora. "Does he have two big, gloppy eyes?"

"That's him. Don't worry, he's really big, and he'll try to bully you if you let him, but all you need to do is show him who's boss."

Faun put his hands on his furry hips and puffed out his chest as he spoke, making Vanora chuckle. If someone as diminutive as he was could handle it, she was pretty sure she didn't have anything to worry about.

"Is there anything else I should know?"

"Like what?" wondered Faun, looking proud to be handing out such useful information.

"Well, there's two really big, nasty-looking plants near here..."

"Oh, _them_. Just keep your distance, it's not like they can chase you. Same thing with the alligators—they can chase you, but they're too lazy. And...that's about it, so far as danger goes."

"Really?"

Faun rubbed his pointed ear and thought hard for a moment. "Well, I suppose going swimming in the swamp is a bad idea, but drinking it won't kill you. And there's a cave near here where you might hurt yourself, if you were to fall into a fissure or something, but you look too smart to do that. Most of the dangers around here just take common sense to avoid."

Vanora didn't doubt that, what worried her was that what required common sense might be different from what she was used to. "If I need to know anything else, I know where to come, then."

Her words made Faun beam. "Sure thing!"

At that moment, Doyle came slinking in through the front door. He stopped when he saw that Vanora wasn't alone. "Who's this?"

Faun whipped his head around when he heard Doyle's voice, which only sounded like an ordinary meow to anyone other than Vanora. "Where'd _he_ come from?"

"He's mine," said Vanora. She got up and quickly scooped the sleek cat up in her arms, in case Faun decided to try grabbing him.

He didn't get up, but he watched Vanora with almost longing eyes. "You never see cats here in the swamp," he said. "Or much else, for that matter. Most of the animals here stay hidden."

Vanora sat down again, with Doyle in her lap. "You can pet him if you want," she offered.

"You know I hate being touched," said Doyle as Faun eagerly began scratching him behind the ear. "I only tolerate it from you out of respect for your mother."

"He has inside information," Vanora whispered into his ear. "And he's much more talkative than Zanthia."

Doyle flattened his ears in annoyance, but he didn't protest as Faun began rubbing under his chin. Fortunately, Faun was satisfied after that, and he got up to trot into the kitchen.

"Oh boy," he exclaimed. "Zanthia left out goodies."

Vanora quickly set Doyle down and hurried into the kitchen. Faun was standing on a chair next to the table and leaning over to grab what looked like a fresh blueberry muffin. Vanora quickly sat down and grabbed one for herself.

"Does Zanthia use her, what was the word...alchemy, when she cooks?" she asked, before taking a big bite.

"Only when she's in a hurry," replied Faun as he stuffed the last of his own muffin into his small mouth.

"She seemed to be in a hurry early this morning," said Doyle from under the table. "She left a few minutes before sunrise, and she didn't leave alone."

Vanora couldn't prod him verbally to continue, since it would sound like to she was talking to herself, so she waited out one of Doyle's long pauses by polishing off another muffin.

"I saw her leave with someone who looked like a wizard, or the Kyrandian equivalent of one. He was dressed in a blue robe that had white stars on it, a matching pointed hat, looked like he was eye-level with Zanthia's knee caps, and was a hundred years old if he was a day."

Vanora wondered what kind of business Zanthia had with such a person. "Does Zanthia know anyone short, dressed in blue robes and getting on in his years?" Vanora asked Faun as she tore a muffin in half. She put the other half back in the bowl for later.

Faun, on the other hand, looked like he wasn't anywhere near full yet as he grabbed another whole muffin and began gobbling it down. "That's Darm," he explained between bites. "He and Zanthia are both Royal Kyrandian Mystics."

"Zanthia said she was a Mystic yesterday," said Vanora. "What exactly does that mean?"

"They're a collection of the best magic-users in Kyrandia," replied Faun. "Besides the two of them, there's also Brynn-she's really nice-and Kallak."

"Who's he?" wondered Vanora.

"He's the king's grandfather. Well, he _used_ to be king, but he's not anymore, so everyone calls him a prince again."

Even though royalty wasn't Vanora's favorite subject, the idea of a de-throned king sparked her curiosity. "How did that happen?"

Faun stuffed yet another muffin into his mouth and hopped down from his chair. "It's a long story," he said as he headed for the kitchen door, "and I'm getting kinda bored. I'll see you later, okay?"

"Um, okay," responded Vanora as Faun scampered out of the cottage. Doyle came out from under the table and stretched. "Restless little fellow, isn't he?"

"He's kind of like a miniature fountain of knowledge, though," said Vanora as she got up from the table. She headed into the laundry room to check on her clothes, which were hanging on a line near the back wall.

"After all, someone as small as he is gets into all sorts of places, and hears all kinds of things," she said as she tested the hem of her skirt. It was dry, and smelled clean and fresh, so she happily changed out of Zanthia's clothes and back into her own.

"That's what _I_ do," said Doyle, with a hint of annoyance.

"True, but finding out how things work around here will take time, so it's quicker to just ask someone who already knows. Especially a particularly chatty someone."

"Assuming he holds still long enough to pass on his information," muttered Doyle. He followed at Vanora's heels as she headed back into the main room, tail twitching irritably.

"You're still my most valuable ally," Vanora assured him, though she could tell Doyle was still jealous over someone else taking his job. "Anyway," she said as she went to gaze out the open window, "let's go find out what the day has in store together, shall we?"


	5. Vanora Goes Shopping

**CHAPTER FIVE: VANORA GOES SHOPPING**

As Vanora turned away from the window, her eye fell on a slip of paper lying on the writing desk. Her own name was scrawled across the top, misspelled so it read 'Vonora'. She held it up in the light from the window and read it curiously.

"Looks like Zanthia already has plans for me," she said dryly as she scanned the note's contents.

Doyle hopped onto the desk and peered at the paper's underside. "It looks like a shopping list."

Vanora was still busy reading the front. "Basically she's telling me that having me in her house means she'll be running out of daily essentials quicker, and since they can't be found in the swamp, it'll be my job to go out on long-distance shopping trips."

"Sounds like you've found a new role here as errand-girl," said Doyle, sounding amused.

Vanora muttered herself as she flipped the paper over and looked at the list. To her disappointment, everything sounded pretty ordinary; she was hoping for some spell ingredients. "Where are you supposed to buy all this stuff?" wondered Doyle.

Vanora looked at the front again. "Morning Mist Valley," she read aloud. "Money's on the kitchen counter, ferry across the lake in the boat run by the fairy..."

She trailed off as she stared at the word. "There are fairies in Kyrandia?"

"Apparently," said Doyle, uninterested. "I don't care for traveling over water, so I'll stay behind." He hopped down from the desk and slipped out the front door. Vanora continued to stare at the paper in disbelief. Stories of fairies in the Enchanted Forest were almost as rare as the chance of actually seeing one. Everyone knew what they looked like, though...

Fairies were tiny, charming things, who wore colorful clothes made out of flower petals and spider silk. They liked singing, dancing, and practical jokes, and they glowed like fireflies as they flew on gossamer wings.

Vanora tried to picture what a boat run by a fairy might look like as she hurried to the kitchen. She quickly found the bag of coins and noticed a small silver key sitting next to it. Vanora carefully tied the bag to her belt before she left the house, locked the front door tight and slipped the key and shopping list into her pocket.

With Faun's advice and visions of a sparkling white boat propelled by fairy dust in her mind, Vanora started up the northern path. She moved quietly and carefully past the sleepy plants and continued north, until she reached a flat area where small pink flowers were peeking out of the ever-present moss.

The pretty blossoms didn't grab her attention as much as the reddish tree that was growing out of the green swamp water did. It curled partway across the path, with roots that coiled and twisted by themselves.

"I guess this is where my wake-up call came from," said Vanora dryly.

A skinny root stretched directly across her path, but she didn't particularly care to touch the strange bark again. She stepped gingerly over it and moved on, walking past moss-covered trees, old logs and sprigs of cattails. The narrow path gradually opened up as Vanora neared the lake mentioned in the note.

The lines of swamp trees and underbrush suddenly stopped, letting sunlight shine down freely on the sparkling water. The path forked to her right and to her left, but Vanora was focused on what lay straight ahead of her.

The water was smooth as glass and perfectly mirrored the blue sky above, and sitting at the shoreline was a stocky brown boat that looked hastily put together and freshly painted. Standing next to it, looking quite bored, was a large bald man in bare feet and a white shirt that didn't do a very good job covering his bulging middle.

Vanora stared at the unattractive pair, her nose wrinkled in distaste. _I sure hope this isn't the ferry I'm supposed to take_, she thought to herself.

"What's wrong with it?" the rotund man barked.

Vanora almost jumped back in surprise. "But I didn't..."

"You didn't have to, lady," the man snapped, "we fairies can read minds, you know."

Vanora's mouth hung open slightly as she stared at the strange, gruff being, certain that he had to be joking. Her previous visions of fairy dust and spider silk came to a tragic end as she spied a pair of stubby wings jutting from his back. As if to further mock her, the translucent organs buzzed sharply, sounding like a giant fly.

_You've got to be kidding me..._

"You wanna ride or not? I didn't rebuild this thing just for people to insult it, you know."

"Uh, sorry," said Vanora quickly, with a swift vow to be _very_ careful what she said in her own private thoughts from now on. "I need a ride to Morning Mist Valley."

Not bothering to be subtle, the Kyrandian fairy held out his meaty hand. "Ordinarily, it's three gold coins, but since I'm feeling generous I'll charge you four."

Vanora stared again. "That doesn't sound very..."

"Maybe next time you'll have better things to think," interrupted the ferry master.

"Um, sure..."

Before any other unpleasant thoughts popped into her head, Vanora quickly opened the bag hanging from her waist and dug out four coins, hoping that Zanthia wouldn't mind too much.

"She can make more," said the fairy as he pocketed the coins. "She's the alchemist, after all."

"Right," said Vanora, though she wasn't sure what that had to do with it.

Without another word, she was ushered onto the ferry and was soon sailing to the opposite end of the lake. Standing alone on the small deck, Vanora leaned against the railing and watched as the horizon slowly drew nearer. In contrast to the dull tones found in the swap, the opposite shore was covered in mountains that were alive with vibrant colors. It almost reminded her of the mountains back home, and if she looked straight up at the blue sky and the cluster of white clouds, she almost couldn't tell she was still lost in a strange land.

Vanora closed her eyes for a moment, but she quickly opened them again and returned her focus to her destination, knowing it would only upset her to picture home right now. She didn't want to arrive in Morning Mist with tears in her eyes.

Before long, the ferry steered into a small harbor, empty except for a fishing boat tied to the dock. The ferry pulled up alongside the dock and slowly came to a stop.

"I'll be waiting right here until you get back," said the ferry master as Vanora hopped onto the dock. He leaned against the rail and watched her leave with a bored look on his face.

Vanora paused as something occurred to her. "I won't have to pay for the return trip, will I?"

"No," the rotund fairy responded, with a hint of embarrassment. "Four coins, round trip. Take as long as you like."

Vanora smiled at him, thinking that he wasn't as gruff as he first seemed. "Thank you. I'm Vanora, by the way."

"I know," was the response. "News travels fast around here. I'm Brueth," he added.

"I shouldn't be long," said Vanora, waving as she headed up the dock.

"Take your time," said Brueth with a hearty yawn.

As she left the small harbor and started up a grassy hill, Vanora remembered that she really had no idea where she was going. She stopped walking and stood in the middle of the road, looking this way and that as she tried to get her bearings.

The road split left and right, but what caught her attention and made her forget everything else was the bizarre structure that was ahead of her. She couldn't be sure, but it looked like a set of giant fish bones encased in mud. Whether the bones were real or made of white stone, she couldn't tell, but she knew it had to be a building because there were windows and a doorway carved into the mud.

"Now I've seen everything," said Vanora dryly.

Unable to take her eyes off the giant fish head, Vanora started walking again. She only took a step before she bumped into something, making her stumble backwards.

"Now what did I--"

Vanora quickly shut her mouth; she hadn't bumped into a thing, but a person. She hoped she wasn't blushing too hard as her embarrassment mounted to an uncomfortable level.

"I'm sorry," she stammered, brushing a curl away from her eyes. "I was just—I mean, I wasn't..."

Her incohesive sentence was cut off by a soft laugh. "That's quite all right," the man she bumped into said. "I wasn't really looking where I was going, either."

"Uh huh..."

Vanora still felt foolish and childish, and nervously fiddled with the end of a curl as she looked the young man over.

He looked like he was around her own age, had dark brown hair that was cut short and neat, and he was dressed in simple brown clothes. He didn't appear to be anyone out of the ordinary, but Vanora felt he had a refined air about him that didn't really match his appearance. It was an odd feeling, one that didn't help her relax.

The young man was studying her as well, and if he was thinking there was anything odd about her, it didn't show in the bright smile he flashed.

"I thought I knew everyone around here, but I know I've never had the pleasure of meeting you before."

Vanora opened her mouth to say she had never been to Morning Mist before, but she felt her tongue tangle up in her mouth as the young man swooped her hand into his and lightly kissed her fingers. "I'm Brandon," he said, smiling again.

Vanora had to think for a moment before she remembered her own name. She couldn't remember the last time someone had kissed her hand. In fact, she was pretty sure no one ever had.

"I'm Vanora," she said, with an awkward smile. "I'm staying in Darkmoor Swamp, with Zanthia," she added.

"Oh?" Brandon looked surprised. "I hope that hasn't been too difficult for you. She isn't the easiest person to get along with."

Vanora quickly shook her head. "No, it's fine. I'm sure having me under her roof is much more of an inconvenience for her than it is for me."

Remembering the reason she was in Morning Mist, Vanora hastily pulled the shopping list out of her pocket. "She wants me to do some shopping for her," she went on, looking at the list of items again. "But I'm not really sure where to find this stuff."

Brandon responded by grabbing her hand again. "The stores are this way," he said with another smile. "I'll be happy to show you around."

Vanora tried to say that wasn't necessary, but Brandon insisted on taking her there personally. He lead her down the western road until the sounds of the harbor faded away into the distance. Before long, they reached the town square, which was surrounded by small shops and quaint homes. In the center was a large fountain, with what looked like a giant sea horse spewing the fountain water into the air.

"The main shop is over there," said Brandon, pointing to a green building.

"Thank you," said Vanora as she discreetly pulled her hand free. "I think can manage from here."

"Are you sure?"

Vanora nodded. There wasn't anything on the list that sounded too unusual. If she wasn't sure about something, she could probably just ask the shopkeeper.

"I'll be fine. Thank you again."

Brandon frowned a little. "Are you sure?" he repeated. "I wouldn't mind if you need me to help you find everything."

Vanora shook her head and insisted she was fine; were all Kyrandians this eager to help?

It took a little more convincing, but Brandon eventually agreed to let her shop by herself. "Take care, then," he said as he kissed her hand again. "I hope we meet again soon."

He walked away, and Vanora hurried into the shop. The man behind the counter glanced up as she entered, but he didn't react much to her otherwise. Relieved that it wasn't overly obvious that she was from another land, Vanora started browsing the shelves and soon forgot about the strange character she just met.

A little while later, she left the shop with a canvas bag slung over her shoulder. Instead of heading straight back to the harbor, Vanora decided to explore a little and continued down the cobble-stone street. The road wound past the front gate and eventually led to large building with a heavy set of doors. Hanging near the window was a wordless sign, but it didn't take Vanora long to figure out what the image meant.

"I guess this is the Drunk Dragon tavern," she said out loud to herself, eyeing the picture of the gleeful dragon holding a silver mug brimming with a frothy beverage.

She had never been in a tavern before, and never had the desire to, either, but it was in the middle of the day and it sounded like it was empty. She was also hungry for lunch, so she pushed open the thick wooden door and went inside.

It was dim inside, so it took a few moments for her eyes to adjust after being out in the bright sunlight. As she slowly scanned the room, she saw that the round tables positioned unevenly around the room were indeed empty. There was a dartboard hanging on the wall, and a bright red parrot was perched on a stand near the bar. Someone was sitting at the bar, too, someone who made her forget about lunch.

"Hey, it's you!"

Vanora jumped a little, startled by the sudden shout. The jester-like person she saw yesterday was sitting on a bar stool, and pointing an accusing finger her way. He looked so angry Vanora was tempted to leave in a hurry, but the feeling passed quickly. He didn't seem very dangerous, so she walked boldly over and stood next to the parrot stand.

"Yes, it's me," she said with a small grimace. "And by the looks of it, you're about ready for another dunking."

She waved her hand in front of her nose as she spoke; she could smell the alcohol on his breath quite plainly, even though he was still a few feet away from her.

"I am not," the colorfully-garbed fellow snapped. "I'm perfectly sober."

He sat up straighter on his stool to prove it, but he teetered dangerously and had to grab the edge of the bar to keep from falling off. Vanora chuckled a little.

"Are you? Say 'Which witch gathers witch-hazel in the haze of the witching moon?', then."

The odd man snorted at the challenge. "Witches gathers—wait, hazel witches gather—no..."

Vanora laughed at his befuddled expression. The drunken fellow growled in annoyance and shook his head to try to clear it, sending his ornamental hat dancing. Vanora laughed again.

"That's it," he growled, pointing his finger her way. "You need punishing."

"I'm petrified."

"Don't tempt me," the small man muttered as he set a leather-bound book on the bar top. He stared dumbly at the page for a moment before turning the book upside-down. After staring a moment more, he tried again the other way.

"I'll punish you after the words stop wiggling around," he groaned, pushing the book away and slumping over the bar.

Vanora scoffed and shook her head. "I can't wait," she muttered sarcastically. She left the bar and headed back to the harbor, and, after waking a slumbering Brueth, started the peaceful ride back to Darkmoor Swamp.


	6. Company and Conversation

**CHAPTER SIX: COMPANY AND CONVERSATION**

Vanora experienced a moment of _deja vu _as she pushed open the door of Zanthia's cottage. It was in the middle of the afternoon and her stomach was growling painfully, just like when she returned from the stream yesterday. Hopefully, Zanthia was back and had made something for lunch.

"I'm in here," came Zanthia's voice from the kitchen as Vanora closed the door again.

Vanora hurried in eagerly and saw that Zanthia was sitting at the table, staring intently at a large book propped open in front of her. "Put the bag on the counter," she said, without lifting her eyes from the page. "I'll put everything away later."

Vanora nodded sadly; there were no freshly-baked goods sitting out, and the muffins were gone, too. Stifling a sigh, she turned to go, her stomach growling loudly as she went.

Zanthia looked up from her book. "Didn't you break for lunch?"

"I wasn't sure if I should," said Vanora, not wanting to admit she had left the tavern because there was a drunken jester lurking inside.

Zanthia frowned at her in a disapproving way. "I gave you plenty of extra coins so you could have lunch. I assumed you would stop somewhere, so I didn't make anything extra today."

"I'll be fine," she assured her.

Vanora retreated to the main room, too embarrassed to stick around any longer. She sat next to the empty cauldron with a sigh and wondered where Doyle had wandered off to.

The afternoon dragged slowly by, silent except for the occasional crisp sound of Zanthia turning another page of her book. Vanora gradually moved from sitting to lying sprawled out on the floor, staring blankly at the ceiling as her boredom mounted. She was tempted to ask if Zanthia needed anything else done, just for something to do, but she didn't want to disturb her.

The creak of the front door opening made her sit up. Faun's round head peeked around the door, smiling brightly.

"Goody, you're back," he exclaimed. He held something in his small hand, which he kept hidden behind his back as he trotted inside.

"I don't think I'll be leaving again for quite a while," sighed Vanora.

"Why would you?" Faun asked as he sat down beside her. "You just got here."

"I don't know if anyone else told you this, but I didn't plan on coming here in the first place."

Judging by the puzzled look he gave her, news of her strange arrival hadn't reached Faun's pointed ears yet, so Vanora briefly explained how she wound up awakening in the middle of the swamp.

Zanthia breezed into the room as she was finishing her story, with an extremely irritated look on her face.

"Uh oh," Faun muttered. He darted behind the large black cauldron for protection.

"Is something wrong?" asked Vanora.

"That Darm," muttered Zanthia."I'd knock him in the head with my Alchemist's Magnet a few times, if I thought it would do any good getting his brains back together. I have to go all the way back to his place because he gave me the wrong book!"

"It won't take you very long, if you make a portal potion," said Faun smugly.

Zanthia paused at the front door to glare at the small creature. "It's not the trip," she muttered as she jerked open the door, "it's all the waiting I'll have to do in that cramped, stuffy hut of his while he hunts for the _right_ book."

"Say hi to Brandywine for me," Faun said with a giggle.

"What are you studying?" wondered Vanora, who was growing used to Zanthia's brisk nature.

Zanthia paused her exit again as her annoyed expression changed to one of surprise. "The way to send you back home, of course. I'll be back later."

She closed the door with a bang. Vanora leaned back on her palms as she took this new information in. Zanthia hadn't mentioned anything about helping her get home until now, so she felt more than a little surprised to learn that that was exactly what she had been working on the past two days.

She laughed a little as she shook her head. "You're right," she told Faun, "she's not really a people person, but she's still nice in her own way."

Instead of answering, Faun pulled out what he was holding and held it out to her. "Here, I got this for you."

Vanora turned to the unexpected gift with interest; it was a fat, juicy-looking apple that was nearly as big as Faun's head.

"They don't grow in the swamp," he explained as Vanora took it eagerly.

Vanora paused, the red apple an inch from her lips, and looked at him as her stomach growled again. "Where did it come from, then?"

"I got it from Herb," he said with a grin. "I think he remembered that they're my favorite. You can have this one, though."

Vanora moved the apple away from her mouth. "Herb," she repeated. "The big toad?"

Faun laughed at her expression. "Silly, it's not like you'll get warts or something. I eat stuff from his place all the time."

"Oh."

Feeling a little foolish, Vanora wiped the apple on her shirt and took a bite. She chewed hastily and took another, larger bite; she didn't believe she had eaten a taster apple in her life.

"I think that apple was enchanted," she said as she set the core aside and patted her belly.

"How come?"

"I've never felt like I just had a whole meal after eating an apple before."

Faun laughed at her again. "It was just big."

Vanora muffled a small belch. "Excuse me. Say, who is Brandywine?"

"Darm's dragon," replied Faun. "She's nice, but she never lets anyone ride her. Not that I would want to," he added with a shudder. "I don't like heights."

Vanora found herself wishing that Zanthia had taken her along; there were dragons in the Enchanted Forest, but she had never seen one.

Sighing, Vanora got up and went to the window, but there was still no sign of Doyle. The afternoon slowly turned into evening, and neither the cat or the alchemist returned. Faun got to his feet.

"I'm hungry," he announced.

"Do you think Zanthia would mind if I cooked?"

The small being shook his head. "No way, she doesn't really like to cook. And she isn't very good at it, either."

Vanora laughed a little as she headed into the kitchen. "I thought good cooking and good potion making went hand in hand."

"Nobody's perfect," said Faun with a grin.

Feeling confident in her own cooking abilities, Vanora began poking through the cabinets and drawers, gathering ingredients as she went.

Before long, she had fresh rolls cooking in the oven and mashed potatoes and gravy warming on the stove. She put Faun in charge of the salad while she hunted for some meat to round out the meal, but all she could find was some fish. She seasoned it heavily and brought everything to the table.

Faun sat with his plate in his lap, since it was too awkward for him to eat from the table itself. "You should take over cooking for good," he said as he shoveled heaping forkfuls into his mouth.

Vanora smiled softly as she thought back on all the careful lessons her mother gave her as a child. "Does Zanthia have any family?" she wondered.

"No idea," Faun said as he shoved a roll into his mouth. "She's never mentioned any, and in case you haven't noticed, she's kind of a recluse."

Vanora had already guessed that part; someone who liked company didn't live in the middle of a swamp.

After dinner, Vanora scrubbed the dishes while Faun sat on the counter and dried them. Once the kitchen was spotless, Vanora went and gazed out the window again.

"Are you waiting for something?" asked Faun.

"Sort of. My cat went outside this morning and hasn't come back yet. I hope he's okay."

She turned from the window with a sigh. "I guess there's nothing else to do except go to sleep."

"Zanthia probably won't be back until tomorrow," agreed Faun.

He went over to his corner and started fluffing a large blue pillow. Vanora knelt and started unrolling her pallet, but she paused with another sigh.

"I don't really like sleeping in my clothes," she complained.

It wasn't very comfortable, and they were already starting to smell funny from her long day. She would have to keep borrowing Zanthia's clothes while her own were in the wash, but she wondered if she would also lend her a spare nightgown.

She decided to ask later. Vanora finished unrolling her pallet, tugged off her boots and curled up with the blanket. Faun was lying on the pillow on his belly and tugging a minature blue blanket up to his bare shoulders. He propped his chin in his hands and looked at her, and Vanora rolled onto her side so she could see him better.

She hadn't bothered to light the lamps, so the room grew rapidly darker as the night deepened. It didn't bother her, but Vanora wondered if moonlight ever penetrated the trees and lit up the swamp, like it did back home.

"How far do you think you are from home?" Faun suddenly asked.

The question made Vanora's heart sink. "Far," she said softly.

"How far?" Faun pressed.

"Far enough for no one here to have ever heard of the Enchanted Forest," she murmured sadly.

"I have," declared Faun.

Vanora quickly sat up in surprise. "You have?"

"Zanthia mentioned going to an enchanted forest when she was looking for the Wheels of Fate. She said it was full of talking trees and other weird stuff."

Vanora lay down again, her moment of hope gone as quickly as it came. "I've seen a lot of strange things, but I never met a talking tree. That doesn't sound like my home."

"Oh."

Faun was quiet for the next few minutes. It was too dark to make out his face, but Vanora could tell he was thinking by the way he slowly bobbed his head back and forth. "What do you think happened to that wizard you mentioned?"

Being reminded of Behelak made Vanora chuckle, despite her drooping spirits. "I really don't know. I was almost expecting to run into him today...he has to be around here _somewhere_."

"Though I _did_ meet someone else," she went on. "His name was Brandon."

"Really?" said Faun, sounding shocked. "I don't think I've seen him since right after he gave up his crown. Last I heard, he just sort of wanders around doing nothing worth mentioning."

Vanora was glad it was too dark for him to see her jaw drop. "You mean _he's_ the former king you mentioned?"

"Yup."

Vanora grew quiet as she replayed the meeting in her mind. She had only met a handful of princesses and princes before, and it was always an unpleasant experience.

Princesses were air-headed, giggly things, who freely accepted their appointed roles of being kidnaped by dragons or married off to an equally air-headed prince. They never made decisions for themselves, instead following the instructions of their parents or whoever was in charge of their lives. She couldn't say much about the princes she had met, because since she wasn't a princess they didn't bother giving her the time of day, but she assumed they weren't much better.

They also made sure to mention their title as often as they could, but she was positive Brandon didn't say, "Oh, by the way, I'm a prince."

"Is he an overly friendly, helpful sort?" she asked, at length.

"Brandon? Not really. He's nice enough, but he's kind of..."

Faun trailed off and bobbed his head again as he tried to find the right words. "He's not the sharpest tool in the box, I guess you could say. Why do you ask?"

Vanora flushed a little, but she described how he had literally led her around by the hand, and didn't seem to want to leave her alone.

Faun startled her by starting to laugh. "What's so funny?" Vanora demanded, annoyed.

"He _likes_ you," said Faun, still laughing.

Vanora was again glad it was dark as a warm flush spread back over her cheeks. "That's silly," she muttered.

"But painfully obvious," giggled Faun.

Vanora scowled at him. "Is that a poke at my intelligence?"

"Maybe."

"You're a brat, you know that?"

"Yup!"

Vanora tried to scowl harder, but it was hard to stay mad at someone who was laughing so happily, even if it was at her expense. "Well, I'll forgive you..._if_ you tell how Brandon lost the title of king."

"He didn't lose it," corrected Faun. "He gave it up."

"Willingly?" Vanora found that awfully hard to believe.

"It's a long story."

Vanora propped herself on her elbow and rested her head on her palm. "That's all right. I'm not sleepy."

"You might get bored," insisted Faun, in a way that made Vanora think he was more worried about getting bored himself.

She smirked in the darkness. "Don't worry; if I fall asleep, you can stop talking."

Faun sighed a little. "Okay, okay..."

He cleared his throat and began a tale that was far stranger than Vanora expected it would be.


	7. The Fable of a Fiend

**CHAPTER SEVEN: THE FABLE OF A FIEND**

"I guess it all started when Brandon's parents were murdered," Faun began.

"How long ago was that?" Vanora wanted to know. "And who would do such a thing?"

"I'm getting to that," said Faun, ears twitching in annoyance. "Brandon was just a baby at the time, and everyone thought that Malcolm was the killer."

"Who was he?"

"He was King William's cousin. Or maybe he was William's uncle...I forget. Anyway, even though Malcolm insisted he was innocent, the Mystics got together and sealed him away. Kallak was worried he would escape somehow, so he took Brandon away and raised him in the woods."

"He's Brandon's grandfather, right?" asked Vanora, wanting to make sure she had the story straight.

"Uh huh. He was Queen Katherine's father."

"Who were the Mystics that sealed him up?"

"The same ones we have now. You're going to ask questions the whole time, aren't you," accused Faun.

"Probably. So Brandon was raised in the woods and had no idea he was prince, huh?"

"Pretty much."

That explained why he didn't look or act very prince-like, but he still gave off that 'royal aura' that irked her so much.

"Can I continue?" asked an annoyed Faun, interrupting her thoughts.

"Of course," said Vanora quickly. She propped her chin in her hands and listened intently.

"So anyway, Malcolm eventually broke loose, and he was plenty mad. He got his revenge on the Mystics by turning them all to stone, but he didn't do anything to Brandon for some reason. I guess once he seized the Kyra Gem, he didn't think there was anyone who could stop him."

"What's the Kyra Gem?" Vanora asked curiously.

"It's locked up in the castle. I think it's a collection of all the magic in the land, or something."

"Sounds powerful," said Vanora, impressed.

"Stopping Malcolm wasn't easy," agreed Faun.

"But Brandon did, I assume. And turned everyone back to normal, since Zanthia obviously isn't stone anymore."

"Uh huh. Malcolm eventually tried turning Brandon to stone, too, but it backfired and he turned himself to stone instead."

"Was that the end of him?"

Faun shook his head. "Everyone thought so, and his statue eventually wound up in the dump, but it was struck by lightning one night during a big storm, which somehow broke the enchantment. Without any magic, he wasn't really a threat anymore, so he got kicked out of Kyrandia. All he really wanted after that was to prove his innocence, and eventually he did."

Vanora was quiet for a moment as she tried to form a picture of all Faun just told her, but it was a little difficult for her to imagine a twisted tale of revenge that didn't involve the schemes of evil wizards. Regardless, the whole affair fascinated her completely.

"So why did Brandon quit being king?" she asked eagerly.

"Well, when he found out that Malcolm didn't kill his parents, he also learned that they were actually related. Everyone said he was crazy do it, but he insisted on handing over the crown."

"I get the feeling that wasn't out of character for him."

"You can say that again. Though making his father's court jester the King of Kyrandia is definitely number one on the list of Brandon's antics."

Vanora fell silent as a chill colder than ice spread through her. She slowly rolled onto her back and drew her blanket up, until her head was covered. She then lay still and quiet as she listened to the sound of her own heart as it pounded wildly in her chest.

She could feel the weight of Faun's confused stare through the blanket as he leaned over her. "What's the matter?"

"Did you just say that the current king used to be a court jester?" she asked slowly, her voice muffled.

"Uh huh. Weird, huh? But, that's Brandon for you."

Vanora slowly lowered the blanket, until Faun's face, blurred by the darkness, popped into view. She kept the blanket tucked up to her nose as she spoke again. "He doesn't run around in a perky little hat and wear grape-and-banana-colored clothes, does he?"

Faun scratched his ear. "Uh, yeah, that sounds like him."

Vanora yanked the blanket back over her head. Faun started poking her in the belly. "What's wrong with you? You're all stiff."

"I pushed your king into a stream," she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. "And I blatantly mocked him when I bumped into him yesterday."

Instead of gasping in horror, Faun started to laugh. "Are you worried you'll get tossed in jail or something?"

Vanora shuddered under her blanket. "Or something..."

"I don't think you have much to worry about."

Vanora jerked the blanket away, sat up and stared at him with solemn eyes. "No one will get upset with my disrespect of their king?" she asked seriously.

"Not really. No one wants him to be king, so no one takes him seriously. He doesn't care, though, because he doesn't really want to be king, either. I suppose he _did_, at first, but he got tired of it with all the..."

"Responsibility?" supplied Vanora.

"Right. No one is too happy with Brandon, either, come to think of it. I think that's why he doesn't hang around much anymore."

She wasn't completely convinced that nothing bad would happen to her because of what she did, but Vanora started to calm down again. There was one little thing about Faun's tale that bothered her, though.

"But if Brandon, the real prince, is off staying out of trouble, and the jester-king, from what I've seen, is busy shirking his duties and getting _into_ trouble...who's running the kingdom?"

"Boy, you're sharp," said Faun, sounding impressed. "Actually, nothing has really changed since the time Brandon first moved into the castle. Since he wasn't raised as royalty, he was pretty out of his depth once he was put on the throne, so his grandfather made most of the important decisions for him. After Malcolm took over and wanted nothing to do with all that 'work', he made both of them his personal advisors and went on his merry way."

"I see," said Vanora, understanding. "So for all intents and purposes, Kallak is really the king."

"Exactly."

Feeling much better, Vanora lay down again. Faun curled back up on his pillow with a yawn. "Of course," he suddenly added, sitting up again. "You might have Malcolm himself to worry about."

"You think so? I thought he wasn't much of a threat without his magic. And when I met him, he seemed pretty harmless."

"Maybe," said Faun doubtfully. "I wouldn't be too sure. He's pretty vindictive, so if you really annoyed him, he'll go out of his way to get back at you."

His ears twitched sharply as he thought of something else. "Say, I bet _he_ was the one who dumped the gnarly bark in your bed!"

Vanora stared at him blankly. "...That's it?"

"He's quite the prankster."

She pulled her blanket to her chin and tried not to smile too widely. "I think I'll be okay. Although," she went on, "I do wonder how he managed to sneak up on me when I was at the stream. He even startled Doyle, who's almost impossible to surprise. I've thought about it, but I can't figure out how he could have gotten to the other side of that log without either of us noticing."

"Uh oh," said Faun, rolling onto his belly again. "Sounds like a portal potion to me."

"But you said he lost all his magic," Vanora reminded him.

"He lost access to the Kyra Gem, but there's no way to block someone from using everyday magic. He might be learning new tricks."

Vanora propped her head on her palm as she thought about what happened in the tavern that day. "You could be right. I saw him trying to read a book earlier, but he was too drunk at the time. Now that I think about it, it was probably a spell book."

It was a sobering thought, but if his best 'tricks' were like the one from yesterday, she really wasn't worried. "I've a question for you," she said as she settled down yet again.

"Can it wait until morning?" asked Faun. "I'm tired."

"Just a quick one. Where I'm from, there are witches, wizards, magicians, and other kinds of people who devote their whole lives to the study of magic. But there are charms and spells that almost anyone can learn, without the extensive study. Is that possible here, too?"

"Sure," said Faun drowsily. "I bet Zanthia would teach you, if you asked."

Vanora wasn't sure that was necessary; she didn't plan on staying in Kyrandia long enough to have to adapt to their magic system, but it was nice to know the option was available, if she needed it.

"Maybe I will later," she said with a yawn. "Good night, little guy."

Faun murmured something unintelligible and curled up until only the top of his head was visible. Vanora yawned again, closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep.


	8. A Crash Course in Alchemy

**CHAPTER EIGHT: A CRASH COURSE IN ALCHEMY**

Vanora's dreams of home were interrupted by a loud banging that shook Zanthia's small cottage. Vanora bolted up and looked around in fright, but the room was so dark she couldn't make out a single detail. She held still and waited for the feeling of disorientation to pass before moving again, but she didn't know the layout of Zanthia's home well enough to operate in the dark and ended up putting her hands in the dry pile of ash beneath the cauldron.

"Great," she muttered as she brushed the gray powder from her palms.

"What's going on?" came Faun's sleepy voice from his corner.

"Did you hear that banging?" asked Vanora, wanting to make sure she hadn't dreamed it.

"Why do you think I'm awake?" responded Faun crossly. "Put a light on, will you? I don't like when it's this dark."

Vanora didn't care for it much, either, but she didn't say so out loud.

With her hands outstretched in front of her, she moved away from her pallet and slowly crossed the room. The cottage remained quiet, so she assumed whatever had been banging on the door had moved on. As her grogginess faded and her thinking cleared, she suddenly remembered the glowing berry and looked in the direction of the work table; the tiny point of light was still visible.

Relieved, Vanora felt her way over and quickly removed the cloth. The red glow flooded the room, stretching from floor to ceiling and reaching back into the dark corners. Faun rolled off of his pillow with a relieved sigh.

"Do they ever stop glowing?" Vanora wondered as she studied the berry with fascinated eyes.

"Not in the swamp, at least not until they start to dry up. I think ones that grow in other places go out a little while after they're picked."

It wasn't much of a difference, but the berry did look a little dimmer from the last time she saw it. It was still more than enough light to see by as she went over to the front door.

"What are you doing?" Faun demanded as she reached for the handle.

"Seeing if who was pounding is still out there, of course," replied Vanora calmly, though on the inside her stomach was knotting up a little. Faun retreated to his corner with a frightened squeak.

Vanora opened the heavy door slowly and lifted the small jar, planning to illuminate the path that passed in front of the cottage.

There were many unpleasant things running through her mind, such as what might be pounding on doors in the dead of night, but what met her eyes wasn't one of them.

"Uh, Faun?" she asked slowly.

"What?" cried Faun, sounding nervous and only half-awake.

"Is this normal, or should I be worried?"

Faun was still rubbing his eyes as he tottered over. He looked up at the doorway and blinked in confusion. "No, that's pretty strange," he said dryly.

Growing in front of the doorway, from the threshold to the top of the frame, were rows of thick vines, curling and twisting around each other as they reached upward. Vanora poked one with her finger; it was quite stiff, and felt more like a tree trunk than a mere vine. She spent the next few minutes trying to pry some apart, but it was no use; they couldn't be moved by hand.

"There's more over here," Faun suddenly exclaimed.

Vanora looked and saw that he had hopped onto the desk chair so he could peer out the window. She hurried over and lifted the jar; the window was covered in the same manner as the door, with vines so close and tightly wound together not even a hint of swampland was visible between them.

The weight of the vines caused the window to pop open suddenly, making Faun hop back with a startled squeal. "So what do we do now?" asked Vanora sourly.

Faun scratched his head for a moment as he studied the tangled mess blocking the window. "Pray that Zanthia doesn't come home today? She'll hit the roof if she sees this."

Vanora muttered something under her breath and marched into the kitchen. Faun quickly hopped down and hurried after her, since the light was leaving with her.

"I don't suppose a kitchen knife would do much good," she sighed as she peeked in the utensil drawer.

"No way," said Faun with a shake of his head. "That would take _forever_."

Vanora closed the drawer and drummed her fingers on the counter for a moment. "Well, I'm out of ideas," she said, sighing again. "What about you?"

"Don't look at me," Faun said with a roll of his eyes. "Zanthia hates it when I get into her stuff and keeps everything she doesn't want me to get in to out of my reach."

"Okay, what would _she_ do if she were here?"

Faun thought for a moment. "She'd probably make a potion," he decided. Discouraged, Vanora returned to the front door and studied the vines in with an annoyed glare.

"Well, that won't do _me_ any good," she muttered.

"Sure it will," said Faun, suddenly brightening. "You said yesterday that you know magic, right? I'm sure you can figure something out using the stuff Zanthia has lying around."

"Won't she be mad if we go through her things?" questioned Vanora doubtfully.

Faun didn't answer as he quickly dashed upstairs. He returned a few minutes later, lugging a book more than half his size in his arms. "There ought to be something in here," he grunted as he handed it to her.

Vanora set the jar on the floor and sat down with the hefty book in her lap. "Most of this looks pretty advanced," she said doubtfully as she flipped through it. "I know from my own studies that trying to cast advanced spells when you haven't even mastered the simple ones is a good way to kill yourself."

"It's just potion making," insisted Faun. "Here, go back to the beginning."

Not waiting for her to comply, Faun leaned over and flipped to a spot near the front of the book. He pointed at the page with a stubby finger. "This one is pretty simple."

Vanora read the instructions carefully; it was a fire potion. "It doesn't sound too complicated," she allowed, "but will we be able to find everything we need without going outside?"

"If not, we can always use substitutes," said Faun confidently.

The idea didn't sit well with her, but Vanora got up and glanced around the room. "We need a cauldron filled with water...is there enough water left over from last night's dishes to fill that one?" she wondered, pointing to the empty cauldron near the corner.

"I don't think so." Faun looked around for a moment before his eye fell on the work table. "Say, I bet Zanthia's camping cauldron is lying around somewhere. Take a look."

Vanora looked up from the book in surprise. "Me? Why don't you, if you know what it looks like?"

"Because I can't reach the table," mumbled Faun, scuffing his hoof on the floor in embarrassment.

"Oh."

Vanora set the heavy book down and went over to the cluttered table. She scanned the various tools and odd and ends until she spotted a round, chubby object that was already full of water. It was made of glass, had a thin gold chain wrapped around its fat neck and was many times smaller than the black one sitting in the corner, but it was the only cauldron-shaped item in sight, so Vanora lifted it carefully and held it up for Faun to see. "Is this it?"

"It sure is," he confirmed with a pleased smile.

"What's the chain for?" she wondered, eyeing the part that hung down the miniature cauldron's side.

"It's enchanted," Faun told her, sounding proud of his knowledge again. "It's always full of water, so you don't have to go looking for any, and if you make a mistake or something, just pull the chain to refresh the water again. Zanthia doesn't like doing anything harmful," he added, "like dumping excess potions on the ground."

"Zanthia and I have more in common than I thought."

Vanora set the glass cauldron on the floor and knelt by the open book. "Let's see," she murmured as she bent over the page, "the first ingredient is...three small twigs."

Faun hopped up and started running for the kitchen, but he stopped himself. "I need to borrow this," he said as he grabbed the jar holding the glowing berry.

Vanora was left alone in the dark as Faun rummaged around in the kitchen. He came back a few minutes later and handed her three slender pieces of wood before he set the jar down again. He sat on the floor across from her as she studied the vaguely stick-shaped objects.

"Where did you get these?" she wondered, turning them over in her hand.

"In the stove."

"They look more like they were chopped from a log or branch than three twigs," Vanora noted, feeling doubtful that they would work.

"They probably were. But there isn't anything else, so give it a try."

"But what happens if it doesn't work?" Vanora asked nervously.

"Nothing," said Faun impatiently. "The potion just won't be complete. If it doesn't work, just pull the chain and start over."

Vanora hesitated for several seconds more before she gingerly dropped the slim pieces of wood into the cauldron water. Instead of sinking to the bottom, the wood looked like it rapidly dissolved, turning the water reddish-brown for a moment.

"What's the next ingredient?" Faun asked loudly after Vanora had stared at the water, which had turned clear again, for a little too long.

Vanora gave herself a shake and looked at the book again. "Next we need...one pinch of ash. That's easy enough."

She got up, gathered a tiny bit of ash from beneath the black cauldron between her fingers and sprinkled it carefully into the water. It dissolved almost instantly, like grains of sugar. Like before, the water brightened to a red-brown color before turning clear again.

Vanora looked at the book again and frowned hard.

"What _now_?" asked an exasperated Faun.

"It says the last ingredient is a red flower," Vanora read. "Why would a fire potion need a flower?"

Faun shrugged. "I dunno, but lots of Zanthia's potions use flowers."

Vanora drummed her fingers on her knee as she looked around the room, but there didn't seem to be any red flowers around. Several minutes of searching soon showed that there weren't any flowers, period.

"I don't suppose Zanthia dries things and keeps them in jars," she mused as she began to poke around the work table.

"No, I don't think so," agreed Faun. "She doesn't believe in taking anything unless she knows she's about to use it. She says stuff just piles up and gathers dust otherwise, and that's wasteful."

Vanora wasn't used to the idea of a potion-maker not having shelves full of ingredients, but couldn't deny that the situation Faun described happened quite often. She knew many witches who had entire storerooms full of ingredients that weren't likely to ever see the light of day, but were kept on hand anyway, in the unlikely chance they would be needed.

"It must be hard," she murmured, "to gather stuff in a pinch when something like _this_ happens."

"I guess, but she always finds a way around it."

"Well," Vanora muttered irritably, "I don't see how _we're_ going to. There just aren't any red flowers in the house."

"There's the fire berry," Faun told her, pointing to the jar still sitting on the floor.

Vanora turned away from the table and looked down at the jar with a frown. "But it's a berry," she said doubtfully.

"So? It's a plant, and it's red. Portal potions use blueberries, you know."

"I guess it's all we have," Vanora agreed reluctantly. "But I'm going to light a few lamps so we don't wind up working in the dark."

After searching for a few minutes, Vanora located a box of matches and began lighting the glass lamps that hung from the ceiling. "I hope Zanthia won't mind me using this too much," she said as she returned to the small cauldron.

"If we finish this up before she gets back, maybe she won't notice," Faun said hopefully. "If she does, you can just blame me. She gets mad at me all the time, so I'm used to it."

"I couldn't do that," objected Vanora with a frown.

"We better get this over with and have everything back in place quickly, then."

Vanora nodded, lifted the jar and carefully tilted it until the berry slid out and into the water. This time, the water made a slight fizzing sound as it turned bright red and nearly opaque. Vanora waited several moments, but the color didn't fade.

"What now?"

"Fill a flask, of course."

"Oh. Right."

Vanora quickly got up and easily located one of the many glass flasks cluttering the nearby table. She knelt in front of the cauldron again and began filling it, careful not to get any of the liquid on her fingers.

"How is this supposed to work?" Vanora wondered as she held the bright red potion close to her curious eyes.

"Just dump it on the vines," instructed Faun.

"Isn't that a little dangerous?" questioned Vanora, having her doubts about starting a fire inside Zanthia's home.

"It's a lot safer than starting an actual fire," Faun assured her. "The fire will only burn what the potion touches, so just make sure you don't touch the floor or something."

Taking a deep breath to steady herself, Vanora got up and walked slowly over to the vine-covered doorway. Looking closely, she saw that the vines bulged near the middle, giving her a place to dribble the potion with less chance of setting fire to the floor.

Pushing aside her apprehension, she slowly tilted the flask over the vine that stuck out the farthest, until several drops of red liquid trickled out. As soon as they landed on the green plant, they exploded in a shower of sparks.

Tiny tongues of fire flickered for a moment and quickly faded away in a puff of white smoke, leaving a blackened hole in their place. Impressed, Vanora trickled another set of drops in the spot next to it and took a step back. More flames appeared, burning a bigger hole in the thick vines.

Before long, she felt confident enough to start sprinkling in other places, since the potion would combust on contact instead of dripping downward like she was first afraid it might. In a few minutes, there was a hole big enough to look through.

"Did you know it was morning already?" asked Vanora as she stared in shock at the sunbeams peeking through the canopy of leaves.

"Uh, sure," replied Faun. "Can't you hear the birds singing?"

"No."

"Well, I have bigger ears."

"And lousy fibbing skills."

Faun stuck out his tongue, making her chuckle. Vanora went back to work and soon had the flask drained to about half-full. By then the vines were weakened enough to break off.

"Hold this, please," she instructed, holding the flask out to Faun.

He took it and watched as she pushed, tugged and kicked her way through the doorway. When she finally made it outside, she breathed a sigh of relief.

"I should be able to pull the rest down," she said, turning to the house.

Her moment of relief and joy quickly came to an end as her eyes slowly panned upward. "On second thought, we better make more fire potions," she announced dryly.

"There's enough to fill two more flasks," Faun informed her as he stepped easily under the vines still hanging over the door. "Why, what's wrong with the..."

He trailed off and looked blankly at the front of the house. Contrary to what both of them had believed, the vines didn't just cover the door and window, they coated the entire front of the house, coiling all the way up to the peak of the roof.

"Wow," said Faun, sounding awed. "Malcolm must _really_ be mad at you."

After casting a brief glance at the small flask still in Faun's hand, Vanora gazed up at the forest of vines with a whimper. "Do you think, maybe, it would help if I apologized?"

"It might," agreed Faun, though he didn't sound very sure about it.

With a discouraged sigh, Vanora took the flask from him and went back to work.


	9. Vanora Meets the Neighbors

**CHAPTER NINE: VANORA MEETS THE NEIGHBORS**

Vanora tried to work slowly and carefully, but as the hours ticked by and her impatience grew, she began applying larger and larger amounts of fire potion to the remaining vines.

She soon discovered that bigger doses of potion resulted in bigger flames, but it still took her the rest of the morning and part of the afternoon to finish clearing away the front of the house.

Once the vines were charred and weakened, she was able to pull the rest down without having to climb onto the roof. She tried using what was left of the fire potion to burn the pile of vines that accumulated, but there was a still a substantial amount left when the potion finally ran out.

"Does Zanthia have a broom?" she asked Faun, who was watching from the doorway.

"It's in the laundry room."

"Can you get it for me, please?"

Vanora wiped her sweaty forehead with ash-whitened hands while Faun ran into the house. She leaned against the house for a moment and tried to catch her breath, but she felt ready to take a nap where she stood when Faun returned with the broom.

She started with the ash that was inside the house, sweeping it outside to the vines piled up in the grass. Once she was satisfied that the floor was spotless, she gathered up the loose vines and ash scattered around the yard, until there wasn't a scrap of evidence left.

"What should I do with all of this?" she wanted to know, waving a hand at the large pile she had made.

Faun shrugged his small shoulders. "I guess you could take it over to Herb's," he suggested. "He's always in the market for compost."

"What for?"

Faun shrugged again. "I dunno. Maybe he has a garden."

Vanora was glad just to get rid of it, no matter what he wanted it for, and she said so. "But I'm not going to carry it all there by hand," she added. "Go get me something to put all this in."

"Aw, do I have to?" the child-like being whined.

"Yes, you have to," said Vanora firmly.

She playfully swatted his rear with the broom, and he raced back into the house with a squeal. Vanora sat down on the mossy ground, rested the broom across her knees and leaned against the side of the house while she waited. Her eyes drifted shut on their own, and flashes of color moved across the insides of her tired lids.

Her chin began to droop until it rested against her chest, and it wasn't long before she began to nod off. She jerked awake a second later as the feeling that someone was staring at her came over her.

Her eyes slowly scanned the area until they came to rest on the pool of water in front of her. Nestled among the reeds was a green head the size of a small boulder, with two yellow, gooey eyes poking from the top. The face was deadpan, but the eyes blinked with curiosity.

Vanora had never seen a frog that large before, but she was too tired to feel surprised. "Are you looking for trouble, big guy?" she inquired with a yawn. "I warn you: I've got a broom, and I'm not afraid to use it."

The eyes blinked several more times before the head slowly lowered into the green water, until the gooey eyes vanished beneath the surface. The brackish water bubbled for a moment and then grew still. Vanora yawned again.

"This is all I could find," Faun announced as he came back outside.

Vanora took one look at the bundle of white in his arms and let out a groan. "Faun, are those Zanthia's pillowcases?"

"It's all there is," he insisted.

Vanora put the broom down and pushed herself to her feet with a weary sigh. "I guess I'll be doing laundry when I get back," she muttered.

"You'll have to anyway," Faun told her with a giggle. "Just look at yourself."

Vanora looked with a grimace; she was covered from head to toe in ash and soot. She took a moment to shake off her skirt, but it didn't help very much.

"Help me shovel this into the pillowcases," she instructed as she stood in front of the mound of charred vines.

"Now you want a shovel? You're almost as bossy as Zanthia."

"_I'm_ doing all the work," she muttered.

She slapped his fur-covered rump, leaving a sooty handprint behind and making him run back into the house with another squeal. He returned a minute or so later with a small shovel.

"You hold the cases open while I shovel," she told him.

Faun muttered something under his breath, but he did what he was told. Even though she tried to be careful, it was slow work since every time she put the shovel into the pile, a cloud of ash would puff into the air and spread back onto the ground, forcing her to gather the pieces up again. When she was finally finished, Vanora set the shovel down and rubbed her tired back with a groan.

"Can we break for lunch?" complained Faun. "We didn't even have breakfast."

"I'm hungry, too," she admitted. "And I'd like to clean up before I go anywhere, even if it is to see a big toad."

In the kitchen, Vanora forwent preparing a bigger meal and made a few sandwiches instead. After taking two and quickly devouring them, she gulped down a glass of milk before scurrying upstairs.

"So much for not using someone's things without permission," she muttered to herself as she entered Zanthia's bedroom.

It was about the same size as the laundry room and held basic things, like a bed, dresser, night stand, and wardrobe, which she quickly went over to and opened.

Careful not to leave soot on anything, she pulled out the first thing she saw and draped it over a nearby chair. She tried to remove her filthy blouse and skirt without making a mess, but raining ash and soot on the clean floor was unavoidable. Vowing to clean it all up as soon as she got back, she changed into what she had grabbed and hurried back downstairs.

"I wonder if Zanthia got lost somewhere," Faun commented as Vanora rushed for the door. "She'd never stay at Darm's _this_ long."

"Whatever the reason, I hope she doesn't come back for at least another hour," said Vanora as she started grabbing the ash-filled pillowcases.

She paused when she noticed Faun watching her from the doorway. "I'm not carrying all of these by myself, you know."

"Aw, come on."

"If you help, I'll bake cookies when we get back."

His round face lit up and his pointed ears twitched at the word. "Really?"

"Of course," she promised.

Faun gave a small hop of joy and happily gathered the rest of the pillowcases. Since Vanora didn't know the way, Faun took the lead and guided her through the swamp. They passed by the small dock, the giant plants and the twisted tree. Both the ferry and Brueth were absent from the lake shore, to Vanora's relief. The fewer people who saw her in this state, the better.

Faun turned down the left-hand path, which lead down into a hollow where the trees and bushes grew so close and tightly together, it almost like stepping out of the daylight and into a place of night. Vanora had to stop walking while she waited for her eyes to adjust.

"That's Herb's house," Faun told her, pointing at a shack to the north, tucked away from the path and half-hidden behind shrubs and trees.

Vanora set down her pillowcases and took a moment to shake out her sooty hair. "How bad to I look?" she sighed, not really wanting to know the answer.

"It's just Herb," Faun said impatiently. "He wouldn't care if you showed up covered in tar."

Put that way, Vanora was pretty sure she was worrying about nothing, but she couldn't instantly shrug off all her mother had taught her about looking her best.

She glanced down at her hands; she had wiped them as best she could before preparing lunch, but they became soiled again when she shoveled the vines into the pillowcases. Remembering Faun's words about the swamp water not being toxic, she knelt and brushed her fingers across the surface of a nearby stream, just enough to dampen them.

She wiped her hands clean and, with a grimace, hastily mopped her face. She blotted herself dry with the hem of her skirt and straightened again.

"Okay, be honest," she sighed. "How do I look?"

Faun scrunched up his nose as he studied her. "Honestly? I think that dress looks better on you than it does Zanthia. Just don't tell her I said so."

Vanora laughed a little as she looked down at herself; she hadn't taken a good look at the green dress she had pulled from the wardrobe until now, and she had to admit, it _did_ fit her rather nicely.

"I'm still taking a long bath as soon as we get back," she told him as she picked up the sooty pillowcases again.

"Me too," agreed Faun.

Bright green eyes watched from the brush as they crossed the narrow bridge built over the small stream. Herb's house rested on a small hill, and Vanora's tired legs started to complain as she climbed the path.

"Now I know where to go if I ever need more fire berries," she commented, nodding to the lush bush growing near the front steps.

Faun nodded wordlessly and stepped around the glowing berries, but Vanora paused to stretch out a finger.

"Don't," warned Faun, a second too late.

Vanora recoiled with a yelp; she felt like she had just poked a hot skillet.

"I told you not to," Faun admonished as she stuck her aching finger in her mouth.

"I know, I know..."

Sighing in exasperation, Faun marched up the steps and knocked on the front door with his hoof, since his hands were a little full at the moment.

"It's open," a cheery voice called.

"Come in, come in," an equally excited voice added.

Faun unceremoniously shoved the door open with his shoulder and disappeared inside. Scents of damp wood, fresh soil, drying herbs and candle wax wafted through the open doorway as Vanora mounted the creaky stairs, making her nose quiver.

The inside of the boxy cabin was dim and shadowy, but cozy and inviting at the same time. A handful of fragrant candles lit the room, which was so cluttered Vanora paused on the threshold as she worried she might upset something. Faun, on the other hand, had already marched to the front of the house and dumped his soot-filled pillowcases on a large wooden desk.

To Vanora's left, sitting on a pair of red-brown stools, were two bright green toads about half of Faun's size. Their throats twitched as they watched her curiously with their round, moist eyes. Sitting behind the large desk was another toad, easily the size of a person and covered with brown, knobby warts. He set down the quill pen he had been writing with and eyed the dirty bags Faun had placed in front of him.

"What are these?" he asked in a deep, rumbling voice.

"Garden mulch," said Faun promptly.

Vanora cocked an eyebrow, but she decided not to say anything. After taking a quick peek in the pillowcase, the large toad turned an eye in her direction.

"Who's she?"

Still holding her share of the pillowcases, Vanora quickly flashed a smile. "I'm Vanora," she said, nodding her head politely. "You must be Herb. Pleased to meet you."

"She's a lot more polite than your other friend," one of the smaller toads commented.

"She's cute, too."

"Where'd she come from?"

"She fell out of a mirror or something," explained Faun. "Zanthia's off trying to find a way to put her back."

Vanora was trying to decide if it was good or bad when a toad thought she was cute and didn't bother to correct him. Herb was peering into the pillowcase again.

"I'm not sure I have any use for something like this right now," he mused, "but it wouldn't hurt to keep it around."

"Thank goodness," sighed Vanora, who was growing tired of lugging the heavy soot around.

"You can put it into that crate there," instructed Herb, pointing to a wooden crate in the corner with his quill pen. He went back to his writing while Vanora started emptying the soot into the crate, working slowly so she wouldn't spill any on the surprisingly clean floor. Faun wasn't tall enough to reach the mouth of the crate, so Vanora had to finish the job on her own. By the time she was done, her arms ached almost as badly as her stiff back.

While she worked, the two little toads talked rapidly to Faun, who talked just as rapidly in return. For a while Vanora tried to listen, but she eventually gave up trying to follow the splintered conversation. When the last pillowcase was finally empty, she turned around and saw that Faun had seated himself on Herb's desk.

"Have you any more apples?" he asked eagerly.

"Not at the moment," replied Herb. He stopped writing and frowned as Faun suddenly thrust his head in the way.

"What're you writing?" he wanted to know.

Vanora quickly scooped him into her arms before he made any more of a nuisance of himself. "We had better be going," she announced, smiling despite the tiny hooves jabbing into her side as Faun squirmed.

"We want to get home before Zanthia does, don't we?" she added pointedly.

Faun stopped squirming. "Oh, right."

With the tiny being tucked under one arm and the dirty pillowcases under the other, Vanora bade the trio of toads a pleasant farewell and stepped back out into the swamp. As she walked away from the small cabin, she took a deep breath of the moist air, the most distinct feature of the shadowed hollow.

She wasn't sure if it was different there, or if she was growing used to it, but the musty smell of swamp water and moss didn't seem as unpleasant as before. "It's smells kind of nice here," she commented.

Faun suddenly popped out from under her arm like a slippery bar of soap. He landed easily on his feet and trotted a few feet in front of her. "It's the Pinky Pants," he informed her, pointing to the pink flowers that grew along the path. "They're Zanthia's favorite."

"They're cute," said Vanora with a laugh. She was tempted to take a handful home, but she had a feeling Zanthia would have a fit if she did. And they looked quite happy right where they were, she decided.

"So what should we do now?" asked Faun when they reached Zanthia's a few minutes later.

"First we need to clean all this up," said Vanora as she carried the dirty pillowcases into the laundry room. After poking around for a moment, she located the bucket she had used to draw water from the stream. As she grabbed the handle, she spied three more stacked nearby.

"This won't be pleasant, but if we both carry two, we shouldn't have to make a second trip," she explained as she handed Faun two of buckets. They were a little smaller than the one's Vanora was carrying, but Faun still looked unhappy about the arrangement.

"But I'm already tired," he complained as they stepped back outside again.

"So am I, but I'd rather be sore than on Zanthia's bad side."

"Good point."

Now that she knew the way, Vanora was able to find the stream a lot quicker than she did on her previous trip, but the day was well over half gone by the time they returned home again.

"I don't know what's keeping Zanthia," said Vanora as she hurried inside, "but I hope it keeps her away for a little while longer."

When Faun didn't answer, she turned and saw that he was busy curling up on his sleeping pillow. Vanora started to grow annoyed, but she quickly remembered that he was too short to help her with the laundry anyway. Though her arms protested, she lifted the other two buckets and carried them to the laundry room. After tying her long hair into a bun, she quickly went to work as the sound of Faun snoring drifted in from the other room.


	10. Zanthia Comes Home

**CHAPTER TEN: ZANTHIA COMES HOME**

Drops of rain as soft as snow were falling when Zanthia finally came home. The inside of the cottage was aglow with the light of freshly lit candles, the floors were practically shining, and the pillowcases were fragrantly clean and tucked safely back in the closet.

Vanora was sitting at the kitchen table with Faun when Zanthia came through the front door with a bang. The young witch took one last look around the room, but the house couldn't be any cleaner. There wasn't any way to disguise the fact that she was wearing one of Zanthia's bathrobes while her normal clothes finished drying, though, so she hoped the young alchemist wouldn't mind her borrowing it...or that she also made use of her bathtub.

Zanthia didn't bat an eye as she entered the kitchen with an angry mutter, glancing neither at Vanora's attire or the fresh batch of cookies she and Faun were munching on.

"What took you so long?" Faun demanded before Vanora had a chance to even say hello. She shot him a warning look, but Zanthia was either too tired or too used to him to notice.

"I just don't understand," she muttered as she set two hefty, well-worn books on the kitchen counter, "why even the simplest of jobs always end up needlessly complicated for me."

"It's your raw talent," said Faun with a giggle.

This time Zanthia gave him a dirty look, but it quickly faded. Her nose twitched. "Are those oatmeal cookies?"

"I hope you don't mind me baking," said Vanora as Zanthia grabbed a cookie from the plate.

"I told you, she hates to cook almost as much as I hate how her cooking tastes," Faun reminded her with another giggle.

Zanthia gave him another dirty look, but her mouth was too full to scold him. Faun hastily grabbed another handful of cookies before hopping down from the table and dashing out of the kitchen.

"I hope the trip wasn't a total waste," Vanora said uncertainly. She wasn't sure if Zanthia's mood meant her day was hectic, or completely unproductive.

Zanthia rolled her eyes a little as she began pouring herself a glass of milk. "It wasn't my idea of fun," she grumbled as she sat across from her. "First I spent ages in Darm's stuffy hut, only to find out he doesn't even have the book I was looking for. It would have probably taken another age and a half for him to remember what he did with it, so I saved myself some time and paid a visit to the royal library."

"Did you have better luck there?" asked Vanora hopefully.

"I wouldn't call running into Kallak just as the wayward prince decides to drop by the castle very lucky," said Zanthia with a snort. "If I could have, I would have slipped in and out of the library without so much as saying hello. But it was locked, so I had to wait for Kallak to finish lecturing Brandon before I could ask for the key."

"But you got in eventually," ventured Vanora. She hoped she could hear about the results of the trip without having to listen to an entire recount.

"Eventually," sighed Zanthia dramatically. She paused to munch on another cookie while Vanora impatiently tapped her bare boot against the table leg.

"Mind you, the royal library is huge, and in a state of total disarray. It took me the entire afternoon to sift through that jumbled mess, and by myself, too. I tried asking Kallak for help, since ancient spells and literature are his specialty, but he was busy with lecture number two."

"Did Brandon do something bad?" wondered Vanora, though she had a hard time picturing the soft-spoken young man she met in Morning Mist being much trouble. "Faun explained his history to me last night," she added, in case Zanthia was worrying that she had to take the time to explain everything to her.

"Oh," said Zanthia, sounding relieved. "You already know the current situation regarding the throne, then."

Vanora nodded and tried not to think about the fact that the current king had it out for her.

"Needless to say," said Zanthia as she reached for another cookie, "us Mystics were against the idea, but Brandon insisted. His persuasive argument was his belief that Malcolm deserved to live out the remainder of his days in comfort, but I'm pretty sure he's alone in the idea that he will only be on the throne for a little while. I have a feeling he'll stick around for at least another decade, just to annoy us."

"He did seem rather spry when I saw him," agreed Vanora.

Zanthia set down her glass with a look of surprise. "You met Malcolm? When?"

"Yesterday," replied Vanora, averting her eyes in case her guilt was visible. "While I was in Morning Mist. I met Brandon there, too. That's why Faun explained things to me."

Zanthia nodded and took another bite of her cookie. "Anyway," she went on with a sigh, "Kallak and Brandon are bumping heads right now because Kallak wants him to stay close to the castle during Malcolm's reign. He wants him to stay on top of things so he can smoothly retake the crown once Malcolm's, for lack of a better term, 'rule' of the kingdom ends."

"It doesn't sound like things are going according to plan," noted Vanora.

Zanthia rolled her eyes again and took a large bite out of her cookie. "You can say that again. Kallak is extremely stubborn and won't admit that Brandon's just a country boy at heart. He's really not cut out for royalty, despite his bloodline. He took the crown after Malcolm's defeat because it was the right thing to do, but between you and me, I don't think he was any more interested in being king back then than is he right now."

Vanora propped her chin in her hands as she tried to picture what a reluctant royal might be like. She had heard many stories of lost princes back home, and those tales always turned out the same way. The prince was whisked away from his kingdom as an infant for some reason or another and raised in a cabin hidden in the woods, or some equally humble place. Despite being raised as a commoner and without any knowledge of his true heritage, the prince's true nature somehow managed to shine through. He would handle each task handed to him, no matter how mundane, with strength, discipline and an air of nobility, all while looking impossibly handsome.

He would later discover who he truly was, usually after some tragedy befell the one who had raised him. After completing a quest of some sort and avenging the death of his caretaker, he would return home to the sound of trumpets, to dancing in the streets and huge banquets. And there would be no end of eligible princesses, of course. She had never heard a story of a prince who wasn't interested in being a prince before.

The sound of the chair leg scraping across the kitchen floor as Zanthia got up from the table pulled Vanora from her thoughts. She pushed her own chair back and began to clear the table.

"Is there anyone else in line for the throne?" she asked as she carried her dishes to the sink.

Zanthia shook her head. "Not that I know of. Katherine was Kallak's only child, so Brandon doesn't have any long-lost cousins or something. Although a really strange rumor surfaced around the time Malcolm was crowned, about a son he didn't know he had suddenly popping up. No one believed it, though...how could someone his age be fathering children?"

Vanora shrugged and set the dishes in the sink. There wasn't any water left over, so her tired arms were spared from having to wash anything else at the moment.

Vanora turned away from the sink and watched Zanthia, who was leafing through one of the large books she came home with. She looked like she had forgotten what they had originally been talking about, so Vanora quickly reminded her.

"Did you have any more trouble after you were done in the library?" she asked, trying to be subtle about shifting the topic.

"More than I care to talk about," muttered Zanthia. She closed the book with a thump and carried it into the front room. Vanora grabbed the other one and followed at her heels.

"But I won't go into that now," she added as she set the book on her desk.

_Thank_ _goodness_, thought Vanora.

"But I _will_ tell you that I'm not any closer to getting you home."

"Oh."

Vanora tried not to let her disappointment show, but her entire form drooped as she set the book she was holding on top of the other. She turned sadly away to begin preparing her sleeping area.

"Don't act like that," chided Zanthia mildly. "I didn't go through all that for nothing, you know. I _did_ come up with a plan, but it involves reconstructing the method in which you arrived."

Vanora turned around again in a hurry. "Will that be difficult to do?" she asked expectantly.

"Probably, but it's the only idea I have. I'm still reading up on it, but I'm pretty sure the only way I'll be able to recreate the mirror you described is by using a piece of the original."

Vanora nervously bit her lip as an image of the shattered mirror flashed through her mind. She pictured the broken shards as they fell to the ground just before the spell knocked her unconscious; had a piece or two jumped to Kyrandia with her and Doyle?

"I'll start combing the swamp near where I woke up," said Vanora eagerly, though she wasn't sure just where that was. "I'll search every inch of this place, if I have to."

"A little late to start now," said Zanthia. She reached over her desk and latched the window. A frown crossed her face as she pulled something off the sill.

"What exactly were the two of you up to today?" she queried, turning away from the window with the object cupped in her hand.

"Not much," murmured Vanora. She glanced at Faun, who was curled up on his pillow and cleaning cookie crumbs from his fingers. "A little cleaning, a little laundry..."

"We visited Herb," volunteered Faun, smiling innocently.

Zanthia abruptly blew on her palm, sending a puff of ash into the air. "Well, next time you clean up, don't dump any embers out the window."

Vanora bit her lip. "I _did_ take a peek at one of your spell books," she admitted slowly.

"She managed a whole fire potion," Faun added with a grin.

Vanora gaped at him in shock, but Zanthia didn't look angered by the news. Instead, she put her hands on her hips and studied her for a moment, looking like she was trying to make up her mind about something. Her eye fell on the white bathrobe she was wearing.

"You'd probably like to sleep in a nightgown for a change, right? I'll go find you one."

"Thank you," Vanora called as Zanthia went upstairs. "You've got a big mouth," she added under her breath, glaring at Faun.

The child-like creature just grinned at her as he wrapped himself in his blanket. He yawned loudly and closed his eyes. Zanthia returned a moment later with a bundle tucked under her arm.

"I haven't any use for this anymore," she said as she handed her a small book. She draped a long-sleeved nightgown on the back of the desk chair and left the room again.

After unrolling her pallet and changing into the nightgown, Vanora sat down near Faun's pillow and took a closer look at the book Zanthia had given her. Embossed on the red leather cover was a large Z, and written on the inside cover was Zanthia's home address. Vanora slowly flipped through the collection of spells, taking note of the words _Norton's Potion Primer_ scrawled on each page.

She laughed suddenly. "Did Zanthia use this when she was in Alchemist School or something?"

When Faun didn't answer, she looked up and saw that he was fast asleep. Smiling to herself, she continued reading quietly. When she looked up again, it had grown later than she thought, and she quickly got up to look out the window.

Zanthia came into the room as she was pushing open the glass. "Is something wrong?"

Vanora was quiet as she peered outside at the shadow-covered path. She could vaguely make out the shape of the giant frog as it lounged in the pool across from her. Except for the sound of crickets, the swamp was still and peaceful.

"It's Doyle," Vanora explained as she latched the window again. "I haven't seen him since before I left yesterday."

Zanthia nodded, a look of understanding on her face. "That's why no one here keeps pets. The swamp is a little too harsh for them."

Vanora frowned as Zanthia began blowing out the lamps. "He's pretty smart, so he's probably fine," she said, with more confidence than she felt. She really couldn't imagine what could be keeping him, other than a few things she didn't want to think about...like the alligator population.

Zanthia caught the look on her face. "You're probably right," she told her, flashing the first real smile Vanora had seen on her face. "He's probably just lost. He'll turn up."

"Thank you," Vanora murmured, managing a small smile of her own.

"You can practice all the spells you want," Zanthia added, nodding to the potion primer. "Just don't forget to look for the mirror."

"I won't," Vanora promised. "Goodnight."

Zanthia bade her goodnight and left the room. Vanora lay down on the pallet, pulled the blanket to her chin and closed her eyes, but she couldn't relax. She kept picturing Doyle, soggy and frightened and waiting somewhere for her to find him. He never left her alone for more than a day, so the longer he was gone, the more convinced she became that something had happened to him.

Eventually she fell asleep to the sound of Faun snoring. When she awoke the next morning there were raindrops pelting the window. Remembering that Doyle was still out in the swamp, Vanora sat up with a heavy heart and rubbed her tired eyes.

Faun was still snoring, so she rolled her pallet up quietly and went to change into the fresh outfit she found draped over the chair. The skirt was a burgundy color, and the blouse was slightly fancier than the one from before. Leaving the nightgown on the seat of the chair, Vanora went into the kitchen.

Zanthia was at the stove, stirring something in a steaming pot. She smiled as she walked into the room. "It's a little chilly today, so I'm making vegetable soup."

Vanora nodded a little and started setting the table. As she dug in the cabinet for clean bowls, she wondered if Zanthia was acting friendlier because she was growing used to her, or because she knew she was upset about Doyle.

Vanora listened for the sound of the small cat pushing the door open, but all she heard as she sat down to eat was Faun's snores. "I think he ate too many cookies last night," commented Zanthia.

"Probably," sighed Vanora.

Breakfast passed in silence. Afterwards, Vanora automatically cleared the table and left the dishes in the waterless sink. "I'll handle them later," Zanthia told her. "There's a basin outside collecting the rainwater."

Vanora nodded and went to look out the front window. Zanthia sat down at the desk and began reading one of the books she brought back. Behind them, Faun snored away as the morning wore on. The rain slowly grew softer, but it continued to fall as the sun rose higher behind the blanket of gray clouds. Stuck inside for now, Vanora began pacing the room as her mind was plagued by thoughts of Doyle and the mirror piece, outside in the rain and mud.

Zanthia suddenly looked up from her book, and Vanora almost felt relieved to see that her usual stern expression was in place. "You're making me nervous. Can't you find some other way to entertain yourself?"

"Not really," Vanora replied with a sigh. "The house is spotless, the laundry is done, and it's too wet to go looking for the mirror..."

"It's always wet in the swamp," said Zanthia logically. "Just go grab the boots I use for walking in the mud and you'll be fine."

"Did the rain stop?"

"It will have, by the time you have the boots. They're in the back closet."

Vanora glanced at the window as she turned to leave the room; the rain had become a drizzle barely worth mentioning. Still, she was glad to change out of her own boots and put on the ones she found in the back of the laundry closet. They were made from a thick, sturdy leather and reached her knees, much more appropriate for swamp-tramping than her own ankle-high boots.

"I'll be back later," she called as she opened the front door.

Zanthia nodded absently, her attention focused on the book in front of her. Vanora glanced over her shoulder, but Faun was still sound asleep. "If the little squirt ever wakes up, tell him he's free to come help me."

"I doubt he'll jump at the chance to work, but I'll tell him," Zanthia promised with a chuckle.

Vanora smiled at the other woman briefly before she stepped outside. She walked a few paces away from the cottage before she paused to think back on the night she arrived.

She knew she must have come from the north, since the forest was to the south, and on the other side of a pool of water. She pictured the route from Zanthia's to Herb's, but it was so dark that night she couldn't be sure if she came from that way.

It was as good a place as any to start, though, so she started in that direction, nodding politely to the giant frog as she passed. Tiny frogs who were out soaking up the rain hopped out of her way with a squeak as she strolled past the dock.

The shore where the ferry usually sat was empty, so Vanora continued on into the dark hollow below Herb's house. The soggy moss squished and popped beneath her feet, but Vanora barely noticed as her mind wandered back to her mother's beloved cat. She briefly thought about going to Herb's and asking if any of the toads had seen him, but she decided not to bother them with her worries.

She continued on, moving away from the darkened area to a spot that looked like a large patch of quicksand. Feeling surprised and puzzled, the young witch paused at the edge. A dead tree lay across the ground, forming a bridge across the unsafe ground. She was positive that she hadn't stepped across it, or the quicksand itself, so she turned around and went back the way she came.

It had been dark and she had been frightened, so she couldn't remember what the area she woke up in looked like, but the area below Herb's house seemed like it matched the distance she had walked before she found Zanthia's house.

With that decided, she began poking around the weeds and bushes that grew near the water's edge. As she looked around, it occurred to her that if a mirror piece had made it to Kyrandia with her, there was a chance it might have fallen into the swamp.

"Lose something? Do you need a hand finding it?"

Vanora set down the rock she had been looking under and turned around. Perched on a branch of an old dead tree was Kyrandia's king, and he was grinning at her in the same unpleasant way he had the day they met by the stream.

Vanora tried to stay composed as she experienced a flutter of nerves. To her surprise, the same annoyance she felt the last time she encountered the strange little man was present, too.

_Be_ _polite_, her mother told her. _Royalty_ _is_ _royalty, no matter how naughty they behave._

Vanora absently wiped a streak of mud off her skirt. "No, sir. I can handle it on my own, thank you."

She wasn't quite able to duplicate the solemn, respect-filled voice she usually used when speaking to royalty, but it was close enough.

The broad grin left the odd man's face. "What was that? I'm not sure I heard you."

"I said I'm fine," she repeated, a little louder. "I can find what I'm looking for on my own."

She politely inclined her head before she turned away. She bent and began checking around the base of a nearby bush.

A wet thump sounded behind her, indicating that the jester-king had jumped down from the tree. Vanora fought the urge to turn around; at worst he might push her into the swamp, and she knew she deserved it if he did. Hopefully, that would make them even and he wouldn't want to bother her anymore.

"What's wrong with you?" Malcolm asked instead.

"Nothing, sir."

Vanora moved away from the bush and turned over a small stone with her toe.

"There must be _something_ the matter with you," Malcolm insisted with a grumble. "You're not acting right."

Vanora wasn't sure what he meant by that, so she continued poking at the moss with the toe of her boot. "How should I act, sir?"

A long silence followed. Vanora finally paused her search and turned around; the small man had one hand on his hip and was scratching the side of his head with the other. "Actually, I was expecting to talk to the same fiery girl I bumped into the other day. And would you stop calling me 'sir'? It's making me nervous."

Vanora was actually trying to call him 'sire', but she couldn't quite manage it, not when the man she was talking to had pom-poms hanging off his hat. And she didn't think 'fiery' was a very accurate description of her. "It's only polite."

"You certainly weren't polite before," Malcolm pointed out.

"No...and I apologize for that. I didn't know who you were."

A flicker of anger flashed across the jester-king's face. "Who told?" he demanded sharply.

Vanora hesitated mentioning Faun's name. She had a feeling Malcolm's pranks would head his way if she did. "It's common knowledge, isn't it?" she asked instead.

"Dodging questions is rude," Malcolm informed her, "even if your tone is polite."

Vanora struggled not to frown at the grin that sprang to his face as he spoke; didn't he _want_ her to be polite?

"I was taught to treat royalty with respect," she said, as evenly as she could. Her formal tone was starting to slip as her nerves grew; just what did he want from her?

Her words made his grin broaden significantly. "I see," he said almost gleefully. He folded his slender arms and drew himself to his full height. Though he was still only eye-level with her collar, Vanora felt a little intimidated. "Basically you're saying that the only reason you're being so nice is because you know now that I'm king. If I wasn't, then you'd be just as waspy as before, right?"

Vanora was taken aback. He was right; she hadn't regretted dumping him into the stream when she still thought he was just an annoying jester. It was a little too late, but her mother's voice crept into her mind again; _Be kind to everyone you meet. Everyone is important in their own way, but you never know when you'll meet someone who's truly special._

"You're right," Vanora admitted with a sigh. "That was wrong of me, and I apologize."

Malcolm's gleeful grin faded. "Are you serious?"

Vanora's carefully neutral expression finally wrinkled with a puzzled frown; she was getting the feeling that neither of them were reacting the way the other expected.

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

Malcolm scratched his head again. "I can't think of anything reason why you would be. Unless you're playing games with me."

Vanora's frown deepened. The hopeful tone in his voice was clear and plain, and the blue eyes watching her were expectant.

She understood now. Faun and Zanthia were right; the strange little man was king in name only. There was nothing beyond the title but a silly prankster of a jester who liked stirring up trouble. Well, she wasn't about to play along. In name only or not, he still sat on the throne, so she was sticking to her best behavior.

That was what she told herself, anyway. Deep down, Vanora knew that even if he was as common as can be she would still go against his games, just because she knew it would annoy him.

"I wouldn't dream of it, your majesty."

She took hold of her skirt and made the best curtsey she could on soggy ground and wearing bulky boots. "If you'll excuse me, I need to get back to what I was doing."

It wasn't easy, but she managed not to laugh at Malcolm's stunned expression. She quickly turned away and went back to digging in the bushes.

"'Your majesty'?" he echoed dumbly.

"Of course. Doesn't everyone call you that?"

"No one in their right mind."

Vanora hid a smile as she pushed aside a sprig of cattails. After several more minutes of searching, she felt fairly certain there wasn't anything to find in that particular spot, so she straightened and stepped across the small bride that led closer to Herb's house. She was thinking about going to see him after all; judging by the clutter in his house, he was a real pack rat.

She was starting up the hill when Malcolm called out something that made her stop in her tracks.

"You wouldn't happen to be looking for something furry, would you?"

Vanora spun around and stared at him. "What do you mean?"

Seeing that he had her attention again, Malcolm grinned at her as he shrugged, making his hat sway. "Just a hunch."

Vanora continued to stare at him as realization hit. "What did you do?" she demanded, frightened.

"To what?"

"Don't play dumb. What did you do to my cat?"

Malcolm giggled and practically bounced up and down with glee. "Oh, _that_. You didn't look like you were using him at the moment, so I thought I'd borrow him."

Vanora gaped at him, horrified. "Give him back!"

Malcolm looked at how upset she was becoming and giggled again. "I've grown rather attached to him, so I think I'll keep him." He grinned wickedly and rubbed his hands together as he spoke.

Vanora wasn't sure what to think or say. In Faun's story, Malcolm had not only stolen an important Kyrandian treasure, he had also attacked the Royal Kyrandian Mystics. But, he had also been cleared of the murder of Brandon's parents, so that meant he wasn't really capable of anything _too_ horrible...right?

She wasn't really certain, but she was pretty sure he had only taken Doyle to annoy her. She didn't think he would actually hurt him, so she pushed aside the frightened feelings that were building inside her and told herself to calm down. She would stick to the polite, composed approach.

"It's best for you to give him back," she said slowly, choosing her words carefully. "He doesn't like strangers. And he gets cranky if he's forced to stay indoors for too long. Hanging on to him will just be an inconvenience, really."

The jester-king wrinkled his nose at her, looking puzzled. "You talk about him like he's a person."

_In many ways, he almost is,_ Vanora thought dryly.

Out loud she said, "He couldn't be more important to me if he was. He's the only family I have left, so please..."

She put the faintest emphasis on 'please' and waited for a response. Instead of answering, Malcolm began scratching his head again as he studied her, one white eyebrow cocked. He muttered something under his breath that Vanora didn't quite catch, but she thought it sounded suspiciously like "Well, this isn't any fun..."

Despite how important it was for her to behave herself, Vanora couldn't help bristling a little. She had been arguing with silly wizards since childhood, and as a result she always had a sharp remark ready whenever someone was irritating her. It was a lot harder for her to hold her tongue than she thought it would be, even though she was talking to a king.

Discreetly taking a deep breath, Vanora pushed away the irritation and managed to pull a small smile. "I didn't quite catch that," she said, as sweetly as she could.

"I said you're not being any fun," Malcolm said loudly, and with unmasked annoyance. "I think I ought to go," he added. "It's time to find someone else to play with."

"Oh, don't," Vanora cried, finally giving up on trying to maintain her poise. "I said I was sorry for making fun of you, what else do you want?"

Malcolm gave her a funny look. "What do you mean?"

Vanora didn't think her words needed an explanation, but she hurried on impatiently. "I mean, what else can I do to make it up to you? Just name anything you want, and I'll do it, I promise. Just give me back my cat."

She clasped her hands and did her best to gaze at him imploringly, but she wasn't very good at begging for things. It wasn't until after she had forced the most pathetic face she could did it finally hit her; he was deliberately looking for a way to bother her, and she had made it quite clear by now that having Doyle bothered her more than anything else would. Tears sprang to her eyes as she realized that she may have just sabotaged any chance of getting him back.

"It's just a cat," Malcolm grumbled as she hid her face in her hands.

"But he's all I've got," Vanora whispered, sniffling.

She doubted crying would do much good, so she took a moment to calm herself down before she lowered her hands again. When she did, she saw that she was alone. King Malcolm had vanished.


	11. A Gift from the King

**CHAPTER ELEVEN: A GIFT FROM THE KING**

"It's his own fault, when you think about it," Vanora muttered. "It was _his_ idea to dump Malcolm in the stream, not mine. Of course," she added with heavy sigh, "I shouldn't have let him. If I had known how much trouble it would get me into, I would have just shaken my head and walked away."

Vanora sighed again as another memory of her mother crept into her mind. She remembered her laughing as she told a friend of hers how naughty Doyle could actually be. "He has a bit of a wicked streak," her mother said. "I have to keep an eye on him to make sure he doesn't get himself into trouble—or me," she added with another laugh.

"I didn't do a very good job with that, did I," Vanora grumbled. "And right now, he's in a lot more trouble than I am. All I had to do was throw together an alchemic potion. Malcolm could be shaving him bald as I speak, for all I know."

She hastily wiped away the fresh tears that sprang to her eyes and sniffled. The moist, yellow eyes that were watching her blinked several times. Right, left, then both together.

Vanora felt a little silly, telling her woes to a giant frog, but she felt better talking to someone who couldn't repeat what she said. So far, Faun hadn't snitched on her, but his tongue was a little too loose for her liking and she didn't plan on confiding in him again.

The giant frog blinked again before sinking back into his pool, and Vanora turned away and pushed open the front door of Zanthia's cottage.

Inside, Zanthia was right where she was before Vanora left, only she had switched books. Now awake and alert, Faun practically skipped as he hurried over to greet her.

"Zanthia's too busy to make me breakfast," he told her as he began tugging her hand.

"Leave the boots outside, please," instructed Zanthia, without lifting her eyes from the page.

After leaving the muddy boots on the doorstep, Vanora let Faun tug her into the kitchen. "Technically it's lunchtime," she informed him.

"That's what Zanthia said."

Vanora managed a faint smile before she began preparing sandwiches. Faun complained about having them two days in a row, but she was too distracted to make anything fancier. She carried a plate over to Zanthia before sitting down at the table. While Faun gobbled down three in succession, she only nibbled on half of one before setting the rest aside and cleaning up.

"You look sad," observed Faun.

"I didn't find the mirror yet."

"Did you see your cat?"

Vanora shook her head slowly. "No...I didn't see him."

She left the kitchen, unrolled her pallet and curled up on it. What she said was true enough...she knew where Doyle was, but she was beginning to worry she might never see him again. She curled up tighter and hoped no one would notice the tears in her eyes.

Zanthia was still sitting at the desk, her back to her. Faun suddenly ran through the room and hopped to open the front door. "See you later," was all he said before racing outside, leaving the door partway open.

Vanora sat up and wiped her eyes. "Is he always like that?"

"Always," sighed Zanthia. "And all that sugar didn't help."

In spite of her gloomy mood, Vanora chuckled for a moment. Zanthia glanced over her shoulder. "What are you doing, taking a nap? I'm busy with this, so you still need to look for the mirror for me."

Vanora nodded and got to her feet. "You're right...sitting here won't do me any good."

Zanthia nodded, though she didn't know the full meaning behind her words. After stepping outside and putting the boots back on, Vanora started down the path again. As she approached the lake, she decided to see where the road went if she turned to the right.

The ferry had returned during lunch, and Brueth was leaning against a tree that grew next to the dock, looking bored. "You need a lift today, little lady?" he called as she neared.

Vanora shook her head. "Not today, thank you. Maybe next time."

Brueth nodded, and she hurried on, in case her gloomy thoughts got away from her. The lake shore path was different from the rest of the swamp, with the sun shining freely down on the water that stretched out before her. She could just make out Morning Mist harbor nestled between the rows of color-rich mountains.

As she gazed across the clear water at the lovely landscape, Vanora couldn't help cheering up a little. Continuing down the path, she came across a stone bridge that arched across a wide stream of water that connected the lake to the swamp. Judging by what she knew of the layout, it would lead right to the dock near Zanthia's house.

After crossing the bridge and re-entering the swamp on the other side, Vanora found herself in an area she would have been happy to wake up in the night she arrived.

The water was clearer, the grass was thicker and greener, and the ground was coated with pale pink blossoms. Across from her was the mouth of a cave, but Vanora was more interested in what was outside of it. Though she hadn't been thrilled with it at first, the swampland was beginning to grow on her.

"It's charming in its own way," she murmured aloud.

She knew better than to start picking the flowers, so she knelt and sniffed the blossoms where they were. Thin streams of sunlight were peeking through the trees, and a small breeze kicked up, making the flowers sway. Vanora sat in the grass and soaked up the scenery for a while longer before she remembered what she was supposed to be doing.

She spent the next few hours carefully peeking between the blossoms and blades of grass, but she didn't find anything other than a handful of bugs and a lot of pebbles.

When the sun began to set, she got up and started back home again.

"Did you find it?" asked Zanthia as she entered the cottage.

Vanora shook her head.

"Then what are you smiling for?"

She hadn't known she was smiling, so Vanora just shrugged and went to make dinner. Remembering Faun's complaints about the bland lunch, she prepared a well-seasoned roast and a bowl of buttered vegetables.

"Is Faun coming back tonight?" Vanora wondered as Zanthia came into the kitchen.

Zanthia didn't look at all concerned about the small creature as she sat down eagerly. "He'll come back when it suits him."

After that her mouth was too full to talk. Vanora hadn't much to say either, though she decided to mention the clearing full of flowers she found.

"I like it there myself," Zanthia agreed with a smile.

Vanora smiled, too, though it faded quickly as she remembered how being around too many flowers always made Doyle sneeze. She briefly considered telling Zanthia what was going on, but in the end she decided not to. Zanthia was doing enough for her already and didn't need to be saddled with another one of her troubles. She didn't know how she was going to do it, but she would find a way to get Doyle back on her own.

She mulled over it while she did the dishes and continued to think about it while she pretended to flip through the spell book Zanthia gave her.

Zanthia had returned to the desk and was reading again, and Vanora was tempted to ask if she was only studying how to reconstruct the mirror or if she was tackling multiple projects at once, but decided not to distract her with questions. She sat on her pallet and continued to flip through the book, thinking to herself that it was a little too quiet without Faun hanging around.

A sharp knock on the front door made her jump. Zanthia looked up with a puzzled frown. "That can't be Faun, he never knocks," she commented.

Vanora was already on her feet. "It's kind of late, but it might be Marko," Zanthia mused.

"Who's that?" wondered Vanora.

When Zanthia didn't answer, Vanora glanced over her shoulder at her; she had her nose in her book again. Shrugging, Vanora opened the door.

She expected to find a person standing on the doorstep, but instead she found a large basket. It was white and lined with pink cloth, and a fat pink bow was tied on the handle, which was twisted in the shape of a heart.

And sitting inside the basket, with pink bow around his neck and an extremely cross expression on his face, was Doyle.

"Hi," the cat greeted sourly, ears flattened against his head. "Would you kindly stop staring and take this silly thing off me? It's humiliating."

Vanora quickly shut her gaping mouth and bent to gather him into her arms. Doyle grumbled in protest as she hugged him tight, but she ignored him as she went back inside, shutting the door behind her.

Zanthia glanced away from her reading. "Oh, you found him. What's with the bow?"

"I think it's a lesson well learned," said Vanora as she pulled it off. "We're going to be a little more careful around here from now on, aren't we?" she added in low voice.

Doyle narrowed his eyes until they were gray slits. "Do you have any idea what I've been through?" he demanded.

"Do you have any idea how much I've worried about you?" Vanora countered.

Doyle wordlessly squirmed from her grasp and sat down to clean himself.

"Nothing's hurt, I trust."

"Only my pride," sighed Doyle.

"Well, we'd both be better off if we could learn to swallow ours from time to time."

"Stop, you sound like your mother."

"Thank goodness," said Vanora, with a joyous laugh.

Zanthia looked up from her book curiously. "What's so funny?"

"Oh, nothing. I'm in the mood for hot chocolate, do you mind if I make some?"

Zanthia shook her head, and Vanora breezed into the kitchen. Later that night, she lay down on her pallet with a happy sigh.

"I'm glad _that's_ finally over," she said as Doyle sat down beside her.

Doyle, who was still cross over his ordeal, didn't ask what she meant. Vanora just smiled to herself as he began cleaning his paws. "Did you hear anything interesting while you were on your little adventure?"

Doyle paused to glare at her. "No," he said curtly.

"Nothing at all? Where did he keep you, anyway? Nowhere too horrible, I hope."

Doyle sighed and rested his chin on his paws. "He took me home," he muttered.

"You got to stay in the castle?" asked Vanora eagerly.

Doyle lifted his head and stared at her like she had lost all her marbles. "He lives in Downtown Kyrandia, above an old toy factory. It smelled like rotting wood and was full of spiders, and I really didn't enjoy it."

"Poor little guy," said Vanora sympathetically.

"It's worse than that," muttered Doyle. "Some crazy lady dropped by this morning yelling 'I couldn't find a baby-sitter and I have to work, so that leaves you!'. And you know how I feel about kids. I spent the whole day hiding under the floorboards."

Vanora sat up and stared in shock. "You mean, there really is a kid? It's not just a rumor?"

Doyle gave her a funny look. "What do you mean?"

"Oh, just something Zanthia told me."

She quickly told him everything she knew about the royal family. Doyle's eyes went round as saucers. "You're kidding me."

Vanora shook her head. "Now you know why I'm so glad our little fight is over. At least, I hope it is. How did he act when he, uh, prepared to give you back?"

"Oddly," said Doyle, with a flick of his tail. "He seemed rattled about something, but I can't imagine what."

"I was nice to him," said Vanora with a giggle. "I guess he really isn't used to that. Anyway," she said as she settled down again, "this probably changes Kallak's plans."

"How so?"

"Well, from what I know, Brandon will probably say that any offspring of Malcolm is ahead of him in the line for the throne."

Doyle flicked his tail again, amusement touching his features. "He's two."

"Oh. Never mind, then."

With a yawn, Vanora pulled the blanket to her chin and shut her eyes. After spending a little more time on his back paws, Doyle curled up at her side, close enough for her to reach out and stroke his head if she wanted to. Knowing that he preferred to be left alone, she only did so once or twice before she fell asleep.

She slept soundly for the first time since she arrived, and in the morning the sun was shining brightly. "Do you realize," she asked as she rolled up her pallet, "that this is already our fifth morning in Kyrandia?"

"No, I hadn't," Doyle yawned. "With all that's happened, it feels more like the fifth month."

Vanora couldn't argue. She got up and glanced around, but there wasn't a fresh outfit draped over the chair today. Seeing that Zanthia wasn't up yet, she headed to the kitchen and started on breakfast. "By the way," she said as Doyle hopped onto the counter, "Zanthia found a way for us to get home."

"I had a feeling she would," was Doyle's short response.

Vanora turned from the stove and cocked a curious eyebrow at him; the slender cat didn't look any more excited about the news than he sounded. "You're really in a sour mood, aren't you," she observed. "You feel like a snack? I think there's a cookie or two left."

"No, thank you," replied Doyle crisply. "I had plenty of sweets during my stay at Malcolm's."

"Really? How come?"

The small cat tried to snort, but through his triangle-shaped nose it sounded more like a sneeze. "The so-called King of Kyrandia has one heck of a sweet tooth. Between that and all the toys lying around his place, I couldn't tell who acted more immature; him, or his two-year-old son."

As she stirred the oatmeal she was heating up, Vanora pictured the jester-king sitting on the floor, a pile of toys surrounding him and a lollypop hanging out of his mouth. The image made her giggle so hard she nearly upset the pot.

"I don't remember saying anything funny," muttered Doyle.

"Oh, lighten up. He let you go, didn't he?"

"Probably only because he has something far more sinister planned," said Doyle with a sniff.

"I doubt it. He only took you because he thought it would make me mad. I really don't think he was expecting me to start crying. If he _does_ try pranking me again, I have a feeling it will be to a much smaller degree."

Doyle was quiet as she began digging around in the cabinet for a container of cinnamon. When she returned to the counter, she saw that he was watching her with an odd look on his face, ears cocked on an angle. "What did I say?" she demanded, feeling irritated by his strange stare.

"I had no idea you were so attached to me," he replied, a bit dryly.

"Of course I am. Why wouldn't I be?"

Doyle bobbed his small shoulders, a cat's shrug. "It makes me wonder what you're more attached to; me, or the memories of your mother that I carry with me."

With that, he hopped off the counter and slipped out of the room. Vanora stared dumbly after him. It was during moments like these that she realized, despite having known him her entire life, that she really didn't understand what went on in his head.

Zanthia entered the kitchen just then, and Doyle faded from her mind as Vanora hurried to pour the steaming oatmeal into two bowls. She sprinkled the cinnamon on top and carried the bowls to the table.

"What's the occasion?" Zanthia wondered, rubbing her eyes and yawning.

Vanora noted that she was in her bathrobe, her feet were bare, and her hair was a mess. Ordinarily she awoke first and was always dressed and neat, but between staying up late reading and the fact that Vanora wasn't going anywhere any time soon, it seemed she had reached a point where she was willing to let her appearance slip a little. Vanora smiled.

"Just my way of saying thank you. For putting up with me, I mean."

"You're a much better house guest than Faun is," Zanthia replied, with a roll of her sleepy eyes.

Vanora smiled again as they sat down together. "I hope you don't mind Doyle staying in the house. I'd really prefer it if he stayed close for now."

"It's fine," Zanthia assured her. "If he didn't get into anything during the night, he probably won't be any trouble."

"He never is," Vanora promised.

_Not when it comes to staying out of someone's belongings, at least, _she added silently.

After breakfast was over, Zanthia went upstairs to take a bath while Vanora washed the dishes and tidied up the kitchen. She spent the rest of the morning studying the potion book while Doyle napped under the work table. Vanora expected Zanthia to come in and study her own books some more, but when she came down she went into the laundry room.

Vanora waited several minutes more before hopping up and scurrying into the small room, the book of potions tucked under her arm.

Zanthia glanced up from the sheets she was folding. "I forgot to bring you clean clothes, didn't I," she said, nodding to the nightgown she was wearing. "Tell you what; to save time, you can raid my wardrobe whenever you want, okay?"

"Are you sure? You don't mind?"

Zanthia shrugged and smiled at her. "It's no inconvenience for me, I assure you. Whenever I need a change of clothes, I just do this."

As she spoke, she snapped her fingers. With a twinkle of light, the green skirt and white blouse she was wearing were magically replaced with a brown skirt and pale blue blouse. Vanora was impressed.

"Teach me how to do that!"

Zanthia laughed and went back to her folding. "I will, but you have a few other lessons to learn, first."

"About that..."

Vanora opened the book near the front and held it up. "Is this safe to try?" she asked, pointing to a potion marked 'Swamp Snake'.

"It's just an illusion," Zanthia replied, nodding. "Just be careful who you try it out in front of. Some of the folks around here are a little touchy."

As she headed up to Zanthia's room, Vanora wondered who else was around besides Herb and his little friends. As she peered into Zanthia's large wardrobe, she pondered on how much studying she would have to do before she could master the kind of spells Zanthia used. As pleasant as Kyrandia was, she rather hoped she wouldn't be staying long enough to find out.


	12. A Familiar Face Brings Good News

**CHAPTER TWELVE: A FAMILIAR FACE BRINGS GOOD NEWS**

Vanora was in the middle of folding laundry in the front room when she suddenly paused and glanced up at the open window, a hint of shock touching her features. "Do you know what day this is?"

Faun scratched his head for a moment. "Tuesday?"

Vanora laughed at his puzzled expression. "It's Thursday, actually. And today marks the end of my first month in Kyrandia."

"Oh."

Faun was quiet as he watched her stack the folded laundry in a neat pile. "It feels like forever," he commented. "And it's been so much fun since you showed up, I'm not sure how I ever managed without you."

"You're sweet," said Vanora. She pulled the small being into her lap with a giggle.

Faun didn't mind hugs as much as Doyle did, but he rarely held still long enough for her to deliver one. "So what should we do now?" he wondered as he squirmed free.

Vanora got up and carried the clean laundry to the back closet. "I'm not sure," she said as she placed the stack on a shelf. "I suppose we could go looking for a mirror piece again."

Faun let out a dramatic groan. "But we've looked _everywhere_," he whined. "There just isn't one to find."

Vanora didn't want to admit it, but she was beginning to think he was right. They had searched every inch of the swamp at least twice, and so far all they had found were bits of useless junk, which eventually ended up in Faun's collection.

It was starting to look like her first hunch was correct, and any bit of the mirror that may have followed her to Kyrandia had fallen into the swamp. There was no hope of finding it if that was the case.

Not wanting to think about that, Vanora returned to the front room and sat in Faun's corner, which had accumulated a collection of her own things. Faun didn't mind, and had cleared his bottom shelf for her.

She reached over, pulled a round object from the shelf and cupped it in her palm. "There's one thing I don't get," she delcared.

"What's that?" Faun wondered.

"The fundamental nature of alchemy is turning lead into gold, right? I've been reading up on it, but I still have no idea how that's done."

She held the circular, dull-colored object in front of her eye and squinted at it. "Zanthia gave me this lead coin the other day, but it didn't help very much."

Faun looked at the way she was scrutinizing the coin and laughed. "Silly, that's advanced alchemy. You're years away from doing stuff like _that_."

"It's always good to have goals, though, isn't it?"

Faun shrugged. Vanora returned the coin to the shelf, lay back on the floor and folded her hands on her middle. Faun flopped down next to her and stretched his arms above his head.

Zanthia came in through the front door a few minutes later. She set an empty flask on the work table before turning to cock an eyebrow at the pair. "Glad to see you're both working hard."

"We're already finished," Vanora responded with a yawn.

"Vannie wants to turn lead into gold," Faun added. "I told her she has years to go before she's skilled enough to try."

Vanora laughed, even though he was blabbing again. His new nickname for her sounded so silly, she couldn't help it.

Zanthia didn't look convinced as she gazed down at the grinning creature. "She's a fast learner, so I doubt it'll take her that long."

Her words made Vanora perk up. "You really think so?"

"Let's test," suggested Faun. "Hand her your Alchemist Magnet."

Zanthia laughed at the idea and firmly shook her head. "Now _that_ is for masters only. Advanced tools are wasted in the hands of amateurs."

Vanora absently smoothed her skirt as she got to her feet. "My mother always said I was a fast learner, too."

Zanthia flashed a small smile. "I'm no fan of witches, but from what you've told me, I think I would have liked your mother."

About a week after getting Doyle back, Vanora finally admitted what she had done. Faun had been right when he told her she had nothing to worry about; Zanthia had no love for Malcolm and found the story hysterical.

After having a good laugh about it together, Vanora found herself talking about her home, especially her mother, whom she still missed terribly. Despite her fondness for solitude, Zanthia was sympathetic; she had no family left, either. After she admitted this, Vanora felt a connection to her that hadn't been present before. She noticed that Zanthia had grown more relaxed around her, too.

With a shake of her head, the blonde alchemist stepped over Faun and headed for the kitchen. "If you're looking for something to do," she called over her shoulder, "there's shopping that needs to be done. The cupboard is looking a little empty again."

"Sounds fun," said Vanora eagerly.

She really enjoyed the ferry ride to Morning Mist, and traveled over there as often as possible. After getting the shopping list from Zanthia, she hurried for the door, leaping over Faun along the way.

"Don't forget to stop for lunch," Zanthia called after her.

"I won't," Vanora promised with a laugh.

She paused as she reached for the doorhandle. "Want to come along?"

Faun shook his head and yawned loudly. "I think I'll nap instead. Say hi to Brueth for me."

"Uh huh. I think he knows you sneak aboard to ride for free, by the way."

"Nuh uh," countered Faun sassily. "I'm a magical creature too, so he can't read my mind."

"Who said anything about mind reading? You aren't exactly quiet about it."

"I'm so small, I should ride for free anyway," he muttered.

Vanora chuckled and glanced in the direction of Zanthia's desk. "I know I don't have to ask if you want to come."

Doyle, who was perched on the windowsill, responded with a sharp twitch of his ears. Vanora shrugged as she opened the door. "See you later, then."

Once outside, Vanora took a deep breath of the fragrant swamp air before she started down the moist path. The tiny frogs who lived in the shallows were used to her now and didn't pay attention as she strolled by. The large, deadly-looking plants didn't react to her anymore, either, and in return she hardly glanced their way as she passed.

"How's business?" she called as she approached the ferry.

"Same as usual," replied Brueth, in his usual uninterested tone. "You crossing today?"

"Sure am," Vanora said with a smile. She began reaching into her pocket, but the overweight fairy shook his head. "You can pay me when we get back."

"Really?"

Vanora couldn't mask her surprise; Brueth was usually pretty strict with his 'pay first' rule.

She flashed him a warm smile as she stepped onto the ferry. "Thanks, that's awfully sweet of you."

The burly fairy flushed and hastily turned away. "Forget it," he mumbled.

Vanora continued to smile as she moved to the front of the ferry and rested her hands on the railing. Though she had grown used to it, it still felt nice to be away from the chilly dampness of the swamp. The heat of the sun felt good as it warmed her arms and face, and she ran her fingers through her long hair with a sigh of contentment.

It was almost a disappointment when the ferry pulled up to the dock, but Vanora hopped off quickly. She waved to Brueth as she hurried up to the village.

The list Zanthia gave her was longer than usual, so it took her most of the afternoon to find everything. The shopkeepers were getting to know her and let her take her time. When she finally finished, she headed for the Drunk Dragon for a bite to eat.

As she walked by the people moving around the town square, she found herself wondering where Brandon was. She hadn't seen him since the first time she visited Morning Mist, and according to Zanthia he had been avoiding the castle like the plague.

She half-expected to bump into him each time she came to shop, but it seemed he was keeping himself scarce.

As she walked by the large shop that sat across from the tavern, all thoughts of the reluctant prince vanished from her mind. Another young man was coming out of the building, visibly struggling with the bulky crate he was carrying in his arms.

He looked tired and grubby, and his clothes were torn and patched, but there was no mistaking him. Vanora stared a moment longer before her body jerked into action. The shopping bag she was carrying slipped from her hand as she ran forward, a bright smile on her face and her other hand lifted in greeting.

"Behelak!"

The young wizard was so startled he fumbled the crate. Vanora skidded to a halt and cringed, but he managed to catch it before it hit the ground. When he finally had it straightened again, he turned to her with a look of stunned surprise.

"All this time I thought I had crashed here alone," he said, sounding dumbfounded.

"Doyle and I wound up in the swamp, back that way," Vanora replied, pointing in the direction of Darkmoor. "Have you been here the whole time?"

"Uh huh."

Behelak's shocked expression faded and was replaced with a small smile. "You look like you're doing well. I'm glad."

Vanora nodded silently; she couldn't really say the same. The young wizard didn't look like he had been anywhere near a comb in a month, and it didn't look like he had access to a pair of scissors, either. His normally short, neatly kept hair was a tangled mess that nearly touched his shoulders. And while it was an extremely uncommon thing for a wizard to do, his face was ordinarily clean-shaven.

Vanora had always wondered why he walked around with a bare face while the rest of the wizard population proudly sported bears that swept the floor, and now she knew way. The lower half of his face was covered in bright hairs that stuck out in every direction, defying gravity and making him look like a blonde sea urchin.

Despite the unflattering facial hair and dirty robe, Vanora had to put her arms behind her back to keep herself from hugging him. Even though it belonged to the most annoying person she knew, she was still delighted to see a face from home.

"What have you been up to?" she asked.

Looking tired again, he nodded in the direction of the harbor. "A fellow who lives down that way found me and took me in. I've been working for him in return, loading and unloading cargo for the ships."

"I see..."

She understood now why he looked so worn out. For a male, he wasn't exactly strong or sturdy. What she didn't understand was how they managed to go without bumping into each other for so long.

She smiled suddenly, thinking that the best way she could cheer him up was to tell him about Zanthia's plan. "I've been lucky," she told him. She pointed in the direction of the swamp again. "I wound up near someone who can help us. She's been looking for ways to get us home again."

Instead of looking excited, Behelak winced a little as he set the heavy crate down. He rubbed his back for a moment, groaning quietly. "Was it hard for you?"

Vanora blinked, confused. "Hard? You mean figuring out how to get home?"

He shook his head. "I meant was it hard losing your magic. When I woke up, I felt like my brain had been wiped clean of all spell knowledge I once had. But knowing you, you've probably already worked around it."

Vanora gave him a funny look and didn't answer. He was right, but she thought that was an odd thing to want to talk about.

"She _did_ find a way," she went on. "The woman I'm staying with, I mean."

"I figured as much. You look too happy to have just been told you'll be stuck here forever."

"Uh, right."

Vanora frowned as she studied him; he wasn't acting at all like the smart-aleck wizard she grew up with. It was as if the life had been sucked right out of him.

"The only problem with her current idea is that we need a piece of the original mirror, and it doesn't look like one made it to the swamp with me," she finished with a sigh.

Behelak wordlessly reached into his pocket, felt around for a moment and then held his hand out to her. Vanora stared dumbly down at his open palm; a small shard of glass was glinting in the sunlight.

"Something told me to hang on to it," he told her with a faint smile.

Vanora stared a moment longer before snatching the shard up and slipping it securely into her own pocket. "I've only been away from home for a month," she murmured, mostly to herself. "If Zanthia can finish the new mirror in a few days, all I'll have to do is sweep up the dust-bunnies and weed my garden, and it'll be like I never left."

She squeezed the cool piece of glass a moment longer before reaching over, wrapping her arms around the slender wizard's neck and pulling him into a tight hug.

Vanora laughed at his startled expression. "You're the bane of my existence, but I can't imagine existing without you."

"Um, thanks," said Behelak weakly.

He avoided her gaze as she released him. "I have to get back to work." Vanora watched as he hefted the crate with a grunt.

"I'll come back again soon," she promised.

Behelak nodded mutely and hurried away. She watched him go, frowning at his shaggy appearance. He didn't seem to be adjusting to life in Kyrandia as well as she was. Losing her magic had been a shock, but her mother, wise woman that she had been, had taught her to be resourceful if she ever found herself unable to cast spells. Young Bel never entered the Enchanted Forest with his staff, but she was pretty sure he relied on it heavily everywhere else.

_I had better come back to check on him as soon as I can_, she thought.

Knowing she would only be scolded if she went back with an empty stomach, she grabbed a quick lunch in the tavern before she raced back to the harbor. "Ready to go home?" Brueth asked as she hopped aboard the ferry.

"My dear man, you have no idea."


	13. A Royal Command

**CHAPTER THIRTEEN: A ROYAL COMMAND **

Vanora jumped off the ferry the second it reached the swamp shore and nearly crashed into someone who was waiting to board.

"I'm awfully sorry, sir," she stammered, flushing with embarrassment.

The young man simply straightened his brown tunic as he flashed her a broad smile. "Think nothing of it, little lady. Youthful energy should be enjoyed while it lasts."

Vanora quickly forgot her embarrassment as his tone made her cock an eyebrow; he spoke to her like she was a little girl, but he didn't look much older than she was.

"Are you getting on or not?" asked Brueth impatiently.

The young man grinned as he reached into his pants pocket. "Hold on, I have your payment right here," he called.

Vanora was taught not to stare, but in this case she couldn't help it; he had a presence that demanded attention. His clothes weren't anything eye-grabbing, but he spoke in a deep, commanding voice, like someone who was giving a performance. He made grand, sweeping gestures with his hands, too; he passed Brueth the price for the ferry ride like he was handing over a pile of gems.

The sight of the coins made Vanora remember her own payment, and she quickly began digging in her skirt pocket. As she fumbled for the coins, the glass shard nicked the back of her hand, leaving a thin scratch that slowly filled with blood.

"Ouch," she muttered. "That wasn't very bright."

Sighing, she handed her three coins over to Brueth. As she was withdrawing her hand again, the stranger suddenly seized her wrist. "Here, what have you done?"

His booming voice made her jump in surprise. "Nothing," she faltered.

She tried to pull her hand away, but he held on firmly as he pulled a cloth from his pocket. "You don't need to bother, sir, I can..."

She trailed off and closed her mouth; he was already wrapping the cloth around her injured hand. As he tied it tight, a thumping sound made her look towards the ferry; Brueth was tapping his bare foot impatiently.

"I'm leaving in twenty seconds, passenger or not," he announced loudly.

"Oh, try to calm yourself, my good man," the stranger told him, flashing the annoyed fairy a dashing smile.

Brueth was unimpressed. "Ten seconds. And I'm not a man."

"You better go," Vanora told him quickly. "It sounds like he means it."

"Oh, he never does."

He made one last adjustment to her make-shift bandage before releasing her. Before she could step away, he had taken hold of her other hand and bowed gallantly.

"Take care from now on, little lady," he told her.

He lightly kissed her hand before releasing her. Despite Brueth's dirty looks, he took a moment to smooth his long black hair before he finally boarded the ferry. Vanora found herself staring again as they pulled away from shore.

_What a nut..._

"You can think that again," yelled Brueth.

Embarrassed again, she quickly turned and scurried away. A lazy alligator watched her sail by as she ran back to Zanthia's.

"Guess what?" she cried as she burst through the front door.

Faun, who was lying right where she left him, sat up with a yawn. "What?" he asked groggily.

Vanora's excitement faded as she looked around the room; aside from Faun, it was empty. "Where's Zanthia?"

"She just left," he informed her, yawning again.

Vanora groaned in disappointment and crumpled to the floor in a heap. "Where did she go _now_?"

"I dunno, I zoned out after Marko showed up."

Vanora sat up again. "Zanthia talks about him once in a while, but she never tells me who he is," she muttered.

Her statement made Faun giggle for some reason. "What did I say?" she demanded, irritated.

"She won't tell you because she's embarrassed."

"About what?" Vanora wondered, unable to imagine what could possibly make the stern alchemist turn red.

Faun giggled again. "He's sort of her boyfriend."

"Well, what's wrong with that?"

"He's kind of an idiot, so she's embarrassed to admit she likes him."

"Oh."

For some reason, an image of the odd man she just met popped into her head. "He doesn't happen to have black hair, a moustache, and wear brown-and-blue clothes, does he?"

"That sure sounds like him," Faun confirmed, nodding. "Have you met him?"

"Sort of. I bumped into him on my way back."

With nothing better to do, now that Zanthia was gone and she had no one to give the mirror piece to, Vanora lay back again and tried to picture the pretty blonde with the strange, raven-haired man. The only thing she could imagine was him driving her crazy with his exaggerated gestures and odd way of speaking.

"How well do they get along?"

"They don't," said Faun promptly. "At least, not very well. He tries hard, but he usually ends up making the situation worse."

Vanora sat up again as she suddenly found herself remembering the last two people she had spoken to before she was magically ejected from the Enchanted Forest. She pictured Morwen, always calm and sensible, and Telemain, a little less cautious and a lot more energetic, before replacing their image with Zanthia and Marko.

"He wouldn't happen to be a magician, would he?"

"How'd you know?"

Vanora got to her feet with a grin. "Lucky guess."

She glanced around the room again, wondering where Doyle had run off to. She opened her mouth to ask Faun, took one look at his sleepy face and closed her mouth with a smirk. "Are you feeling hungry after your nap, little guy?"

"And how."

As she was stepping in the direction of the kitchen, Vanora suddenly stopped and stared off into space. Faun looked at her blank expression and frowned. "What's the matter?"

Vanora didn't answer as she turned around again. She slowly scanned the entire room for a third time before she covered her face with a whimper. "You big dummy..."

"Who? Me?"

"No, _me_," she groaned.

She clearly remembered dropping her shopping bag as she ran to greet Behelak, but she had no memory of picking it back up. Her hands were empty during the ferry ride, just like they were now. The bag was probably lying in the middle of the road that very moment.

Vanora whimpered a moment longer before she lowered her hands and began to think. It would look a little odd, but she could always go back to Morning Mist. Hopefully, she could retrieve the bag and return home again before Zanthia did...assuming the bag didn't disappear before she got there.

She was about to tell Faun what she intended to do when someone knocked on the door sharply. Faun jumped, but not as hard as Vanora did.

She recognized that knock. Unlike most people, who knocked dully two or three times, the person on the other side of the door knocked only once, and so harshly it was enough to make someone leap an inch off the ground.

Vanora was now glad Doyle wasn't around; the last time she heard that knock was right before she found him sitting on the doorstep, gift-wrapped.

Faun recovered first and bent to pick something up off the floor. "Um, Vannie?"

For once, Vanora's new nickname didn't make her chuckle. "What is it?" she asked, at length.

"This was slipped under the door," he told her. He turned around and held up a white envelope. The flap was held in place by a gold emblem embossed with an ornate crown.

Vanora cringed at the sight. "Please tell me that isn't the symbol of the royal family."

"I don't see what else it could be," said Faun, wrinkling his nose. "Nobody else uses envelopes this fancy."

His eyes suddenly lit up. "Say, maybe Brandon decided to invite you over for dinner. Can I come?"

Vanora looked at his eager expression and laughed in spite of her apprehension. "I don't see why he would, silly goose."

"Hey, he likes you, remember?"

Faun giggled and waggled his eyebrows at her. Vanora rolled her eyes. "We only met once...remember? He's probably forgotten all about me."

"Who else could it be from, then?"

"I can only think of one other person," she said with a sigh. "And I doubt he's inviting me to dinner."

She gingerly took the envelope from him, broke the seal, and removed the neatly folded paper she found.

It was the fanciest paper she had ever seen, with gilded edges, a decorative pattern curling around the body of the message, and the writing was neat, flowing calligraphy. As she began to read the letter silently, Vanora wondered who had written it, since she didn't believe for a second that the name elegantly penned in the salutation had anything to do with it.

'I, the King of all Kyrandia, do bequeath on this day that Vanora...'

"How did he find out my name?" she cried aloud.

'...of 1744 Squallybog Lane is to be entrusted with the title of Royal Baby-sitter. The title is in affect as of immediately, and is to remain in place until she is unable to fulfill her designated duties.'

At the bottom of the page, written in an almost child-like scrawl, was Malcolm's signature. "Faun, what the heck is a royal baby-sitter?"

Faun scratched his ear for a moment. "Someone who baby-sits royalty?" he guessed.

"That's what I was afraid of," she said with a sigh.

_The question was sort of rhetorical anyway_, she added silently. She begrudgingly folded the royal order up and slid it back into the envelope.

"Or," Faun suddenly added, "it might be someone royal who baby-sits."

Vanora snorted as she started for the kitchen again. "How I wish that were true."

She stopped as her ears picked up a dull thump from outside. Faun pouted as she turned around again and hurried for the door. "I thought you were making me lunch."

Vanora didn't reply as she slowly opened the front door and peeked outside.

Sitting on the doorstep, dressed in a pale blue jumper and holding a rainbow-colored sucker as big as his head, was a plump, blue-eyed two-year-old. Despite his obvious youth, the curls that peeked out from beneath his blue-and-white cap where as white as snow.

The small child suddenly waved his sucker and laughed, revealing two rows of half-grown baby teeth. "Hi!"

Vanora stare dumbly for a moment. "Uh, hi," she echoed dully.

Her eyes darted to the swamp path, but it was empty. Her forehead wrinkled in apprehension as she bent and carefully lifted the happy youngster into her arms.

"You look nervous," Faun observed as she nudged the door shut with her foot.

"I am," she admitted stiffly.

The youngest child she had ever looked after had been at least six, and that had only been for an afternoon. She had no idea how long Malcolm planned to leave his son with her...or what the penalty for not doing a good job might be.

Faun studied her a moment longer, then darted around her. "What are you doing?" Vanora demanded as he jumped for the door handle.

"Don't worry, I'll be back later. See you!"

Before she could protest, he had already disappeared from sight. Stifling a sigh, Vanora nudged the door again. A loud clack made her jump. The young prince squealed happily.

Vanora glanced down at the sucker now lying at her feet, wondering how she was going to pry it off the floor. She did know one thing, though.

"Zanthia's going to have a fit when she gets back."


	14. Even Toads Have Troubles

**CHAPTER FOURTEEN: EVEN TOADS HAVE TROUBLES**

Vanora figured out in less than five minutes that calling her charge a two-year-old was pushing it. Judging by how well he walked, talked, and understood things, he was probably within days of turning three. And when she set him down so she could try to figure out how she could get the sucker off the floor, she discovered that he was also capable of running like the dickens.

"Chase me," he ordered the second his tiny feet touched the ground.

Vanora watched dumbly as the pint-sized prince darted out of the room like a shot. She listened until the sound of bare feet slapping on the wood floor faded away before snapping out of her moment of shock. Hiking her skirt up almost to her knees, she dashed into the kitchen.

After a quick peek beneath the kitchen table, Vanora checked inside a few cabinets before moving on to the laundry room. She looked inside the linen closet, checked under the piles of laundry, even peeked inside the empty cauldron. The little prince was nowhere in sight, but just as she was about to get very frustrated, she heard a thumping over her head.

"Forget throwing a fit," Vanora muttered as she hurried up the steps. "Zanthia's going to strangle me."

The young witch entered Zanthia's bedroom slowly, her eyes scanning the area carefully for any signs of a toddler in hiding. She was about to hurry over and check under the bed when one of the wardrobe doors banged open, nearly making her yelp in surprise.

"Can't catch me," the naughty little prince said with a high-pitched giggle. He leapt out of the wardrobe and raced down the stairs, leaving a trail of wrinkled dresses and crooked hangers in his wake. Vanora stepped carefully over everything before she half-ran, half-jumped down the stairs.

She moved as quickly as she could without stumbling and falling on her face, but it was no use. The young prince's stubby legs were shockingly quick and agile, and he stayed safely out of range of her extended fingers by inches.

Vanora was ready to whimper in frustration, already picturing her entire day being devoted to the hopeless chase. But when they reached the bottom of the stairs something unexpected happened; the snowy-haired toddler suddenly lost his balance and fell. Vanora stopped in her tracks and watched, horrified, as the pint-sized royal teetered off the bottom step and landed sharply on his outstretched palms. Vanora stood frozen, visions of getting beheaded for negligent baby-sitting flashing through her mind.

She let out a sigh of relief a second later; the little prince was laughing. He recovered in a hurry and was ready to take off again, but the brief pause was just long enough for Vanora to catch up. "Gotcha," she said as she triumphantly scooped the wiggling toddler into her arms.

The little prince squealed and kicked, but Vanora held on as she hurried to take another look at the royal order. She studied every inch of it, front and back, but there just wasn't any mention of what she believed was the most important detail.

"I don't suppose you can tell me your name," she said, a bit sourly.

The tiny royal just gurgled and kicked his legs. He continued to kick wildly, as though he were trying to swim through the air, making it very difficult for Vanora to keep hold of him. "Shame on your daddy for giving you so much sugar," she muttered. "And shame on him for not mentioning anything that's imperative to taking proper care of you--like what you eat."

The more she thought about it, the more Vanora was convinced she was completely ill equipped to take care of a baby, and the lack of information wasn't helping one bit.

"Well, until someone comes along and tells me otherwise, I'm calling you Aiden, because you're a regular ball of fire."

'Aiden' let out a squeal and kicked his legs some more. Holding him under one arm and glaring at the letter in her free hand, Vanora moved to the front door. Zanthia's modest cottage wasn't set up for small children, and the young alchemist would probably have a coronary if they made a mess...but there was someone else living in the swamp whose house was already such a mess, he probably wouldn't mind one more.

"You ever meet a giant talking toad?" said Vanora as she stepped out into the damp afternoon air. "Let's go pay one a visit."

The toddler prince wiggled the whole way, but Vanora didn't dare set him down. The hazards of the swamp were easy to avoid—if you were an adult and knew where and what they were. Fortunately, the walk to Herb's only took a few minutes, but the effort it took to keep the small royal under control had Vanora winded by the time she mounted Herb's front steps.

"Come in," Herb's deep, pleasant voice called in reply to her knock.

Vanora noted how quiet the shack seemed as she stepped inside. A quick glance around the dimly lit room showed her that Herb was alone for a change. "Where are the little peepers?"

"Oh, they went for a stroll," said Herb, sounding unconcerned. As usual, he was parked at his desk and writing something with a quill pen. He looked up from his work in surprise when he noticed the small child in her arms.

"I, uh, recently took a baby-sitting job," Vanora quickly explained. She decided not to mention that the snowy-haired ball of energy was a prince, in case Herb didn't want the extra responsibility—or if he had a particular dislike for the current king. She didn't know where else to go if he politely told her to leave.

"Just keep him away from my work," said Herb placidly. "The little ones won't mind if their things are disturbed."

Vanora glanced at the stacks of crates and clusters of fragrant barrels and wondered which things belonged to the little toads. "In return," Herb went on, "you can do me a favor."

The strawberry-blonde adjusted her hold on the wiggling prince. "Sure thing. What do you need?"

"Well..."

Herb fidgeted in his seat, and Vanora thought he looked embarrassed all of a sudden. "I've a dilemma," he mumbled.

Vanora couldn't imagine what sort of trouble a giant talking toad living in a swamp could get in to, but she knew it would be rude to say so. "What sort of dilemma?" she asked instead.

'Aiden' suddenly started thrashing so hard she nearly dropped him. "May I please set him down?" Vanora asked, panting. Herb nodded, and she carefully set the young prince down on the floor. He promptly trotted over to a nearby barrel, plunged his chubby hand into its contents and thrust his fingers into his mouth.

Vanora pulled him away with a frightened squeak. "What is that?" she asked, looking at the gooey black mass dripping from the toddler's fingers in alarm.

"Licorice-flavored taffy," said Herb mildly.

"Oh."

Relieved, Vanora let him take another taste before pulling him away. She grabbed one of the stools left by the small toads, sat down on it and placed the energetic prince on her lap. Her skirt was soon covered in sticky handprints she had her doubts about being able to remove later, much like the sticky sucker still attached to the floor back home.

"So what's on your mind, big guy?"

Herb fidgeted in his chair again. "Well, it all began with a mix-up in the mail. A letter meant for a maid who lives in the castle was given to me by mistake. I sent it off with the delivery dragonfly as soon as I could, but in the meantime the seal on the envelope came loose, and...I accidentally had a peek at the contents of the letter."

Vanora couldn't help flashing a grin. "You went snooping in someone else's mail? Naughty toad," she said teasingly.

Herb's cheeks puffed out, and she was pretty sure he was blushing. "I didn't do it on purpose," he insisted. "I caught a glimpse of it while I was sealing it again. And I noticed the letter was actually marked return to sender."

"That's too bad," said Vanora, not sure where the story was going. The small prince in her arms suddenly yawned and stuck his sticky thumb into his mouth. Vanora propped him against her shoulder and waited for Herb to continue.

"Too bad indeed," he sighed. "I didn't read the entire letter—I _do_ have manners, you know—but judging by what I saw I concluded that the maid was trying correspond with someone all the way on the Isle of Cats."

"Where's that?" Vanora asked curiously.

"Very far from here. It's quite a distance to be mailing letters to, but I'm not surprised she tried; she sounded very lonely."

"I see," murmured Vanora, already picturing a lonely young girl dressed in a worn maid's uniform, cleaning an old castle during the day and relaxing with a friendly letter at night. "You decided to start writing to her, didn't you," she guessed.

Herb nodded, and Vanora thought he might be blushing again. "I didn't see any harm in it. I'm rather secluded myself, as you can see. The little ones are good company, but they talk amongst themselves more than they talk to me."

"It sounds like a good plan to me," Vanora said approvingly. Writing to pen pals seemed like a good hobby for a lonely giant toad.

"I thought so too, but..." Herb shifted in his seat again. "I haven't exactly mentioned that I'm a warty old toad. I think she believes that I'm young and...not amphibious."

Vanora sat up straighter as something occurred to her. She tried not to smile too widely as she spoke. "Are you trying to tell me that she's gotten a little sweet on you?"

Herb quickly pretended to sort through his stack of papers before hastily writing something. "That's rather a strong term," he mumbled.

But Vanora was sure that it was more than accurate, and that his embarrassed squirming signaled that he was quite taken with his little maid. "What do you intend to do?"

"Actually, I hoping you could advise me on how to proceed."

"Me?"

Vanora was taken aback. She had little knowledge of matters of the heart, and no personal experience at all. But that didn't stop her from trying to puzzle her way through a matter of such importance for her knobby friend; were inter-species relationships common in Kyrandia? They certainly weren't in the Enchanted Forest...

"My mother always told me to be honest no matter what," Vanora decided. "If she's a nice girl, she'll still want to be your friend, no matter how different you are."

_Or she might hope this is like the story of the frog who turned into a prince, _she added to herself.

The tale was quite famous back home, but Vanora doubted anyone knew about it here. And only a witch like herself knew the _real_ story, since a witch had been the one to enchant the frog in the first place. Everyone else believed that the frog had once been a prince, cursed to remain in his homely form until a kind princess bestowed a kiss on him. In reality, he was never a prince to begin with; he had been an ordinary frog who lived in the castle moat and developed a crush on the king's daughter, who had a habit of sitting in her window and singing to herself as she brushed out her long golden hair.

Vanora smiled to herself. Herb was tapping his quill pen against his blunt nose, his round, slightly gloppy eyes distant. "I suppose you're right," he finally said. "Being honest is best."

"Glad I could help. You let me know how it turns out, okay?"

Vanora suddenly remembered the toddler in her arms and looked down; his snowy head was on her shoulder, and he was sleeping peacefully. "I guess we were too boring for him," she said, laughing softly.

"My voice has that affect on people," said Herb, amused.

Personally, Vanora thought Herb's deep rumble of a voice was pleasant to listen to, and she didn't wonder how it had lulled the hyper-active youth to sleep. She got up from the stool carefully. "I better be going. Thank you for letting me stay."

"Don't mention it."

Herb was busy folding a sheet of paper and tucking it into an envelope. Vanora noticed that both were extra thick and kind of yellow, not the sort of paper one would send off as a friendly letter. She also noticed that Herb's desk was covered in similar papers, and that they looked like some sort of form. "What are those?" she asked, her curiosity getting the better of her.

"Order forms," Herb said simply. "I get orders for my compost and fertilizer from all over Kyrandia."

Vanora took another look around her, seeing the stacks of fragrant crates and earthy-smelling barrels in a new light. "If I ever plant a garden, I know just where to come."

"My rates are very reasonable," said Herb, smiling.

She didn't realize the full meaning of her own words until she was walking down the swamp path back toward Zanthia's. Planting a garden suggested one was making a place homier—which also suggested one had a home. Vanora liked the swamp and its inhabitants, but she had no intention of settling down and taking root here.

_No, I won't be needing Herb's services after all_, she thought with a sniff.

Careful not to wake the sleeping prince, Vanora stepped across the threshold of Zanthia's cottage—a temporary dwelling place—and closed the door behind her.


	15. Vanora Arrives as Pegasus

**CHAPTER FIFTEEN: VANORA ARRIVES AS PEGASUS**

After leaving the still-sleeping prince on Faun's pillow, Vanora took a chance and tip-toed upstairs to clean up the mess they had left in Zanthia's bedroom. Once every hanger was straightened and every dress was hanging neatly in place again, she went back downstairs to dust and tidy the rest of the house, just to be safe.

When she was finished, Vanora went to work prying the sucker off the floor. It took a little effort, plus a little dribble from a bottle she found in the kitchen (she thought it was soap but wasn't quite sure), but the stubborn treat eventually popped free. Vanora then scrubbed the floor until it gleamed.

"There," she said, breathing a sigh of relief. "That ought to do it."

She went over to the corner, stretched out on her belly and propped her chin on the edge of the plush pillow. The young prince's beanie had fallen off, letting his snowy curls puff out freely. Vanora lightly plucked one and chuckled to herself. "When you aren't getting into mischief, you're actually kind of cute."

The tiny royal went on dreaming, and Vanora found herself covering yawn after yawn. Before she knew it, she had rested her head on the edge of the pillow. Images of home danced behind her eyes, and for a moment she was watching herself—a much younger version of herself—as she played in the field of flowers that grew beside the small house. Though it was only a dream, Vanora could swear she smelled the fragrance of the blossoms as they danced and swayed in a gentle breeze.

All at once her head popped up. The room was silent—too silent. She sat up, rubbed her eyes and then looked at the pillow. It was empty.

"Nice going," she muttered, scolding herself.

Sighing, Vanora pushed herself to her feet, preparing herself for a long search and another chase. Instead, her charge was sitting mere feet away underneath Zanthia's work table, quietly playing with some of Faun's nick-knacks.

Vanora went over and crouched down with a smile. "Don't scare me like that," she scolded, though not very hard.

Giggling, the smiling prince held out his chubby hand. "Here."

Surprised, Vanora took what was being offered and cupped it in her hand. "For me? How sweet."

She wasn't sure what it was. If it was Faun's, it probably wasn't anything important. But as she turned it over in her hand, she thought it looked remarkably like one of the beads from Zanthia's favorite bracelet.

With a knot growing rapidly in her stomach, Vanora took a closer look at the pile of objects lying in a circle around the toddler. Some of them were Faun's things, but there was another bead, and another...

"Aiden, you naughty thing!" Vanora cried, without thinking.

The hyper prince just laughed and scampered away as Vanora hastily began gathering the scattered beads. She couldn't remember the last time she had seen Zanthia wear it, but she hoped the alchemist had absently left it out somewhere. If not, that meant she would have to run upstairs and clean Zanthia's room...again.

Fortunately, most of the beads were still safely on their cord, much to Vanora's relief. She crawled backwards out from under the table and stood, still clutching the broken bracelet in her hand. A quick glance told her that the room was empty. "Where did you wander off to now?"

The naughty prince appeared in the kitchen doorway, though he wasn't smiling anymore. "I hungry," he announced.

Vanora stifled a sigh. She couldn't stay mad when it was her own fault he got into trouble. She should have been watching him instead of taking a nap.

"You're still too young to know better," she said, pocketing the bracelet. "If anyone around here needs a good spanking, it's your--"

"Daddy!"

The sudden exclamation made Vanora jump. She turned around slowly, hoping that he had somehow guessed what she was going to say, but no. A small man dressed in purple and yellow was standing in the doorway, arms crossed and watching her with smug amusement.

"Go on. Just what is it you're trying to say?"

The hand in her pocket felt cold, but her cheeks started to warm. "Um..."

The young prince suddenly darted around her skirt with a giggle. He bounced up and down and waved his arms at his father. "Chase me, daddy!"

Relieved to have such a hyper distraction around, Vanora watched as the tiny prince ran back into the kitchen. Malcolm stayed in the doorway. "What did you call him earlier?"

Vanora flushed harder as she realized he must have been standing there for longer than she thought. She wracked her brain to remember what she had called the king's son, right in front of the king, too. "I think I called him naughty," she confessed.

"Before that."

He didn't look mad, to Vanora's relief. She tried to remember what else she had said. Then it dawned on her. "I, uh, called him Aiden. But only because I didn't know his real name," she quickly added. "Now that you're here, you can tell me, and I can use his proper name."

Malcolm scratched the side of his head, making his white hair puff out more than usual. He looked puzzled. "I haven't a clue," he said, shrugging.

Vanora looked at him blankly. "Excuse me?"

"You're excused. Would you mind fetching him? I've things to do."

Vanora was too shocked to obey. "You don't know your own son's name? Tell me you're joking."

Malcolm shrugged again, looking appallingly unconcerned. "I never bothered to ask."

"Yeah, but..."

The young witch tried to fathom how someone could have a son for over two years and not know his name, but she couldn't. "But even if you didn't name him yourself, you must know what your wife calls him."

Malcolm's eyes bulged. "Wife?" he echoed. "Thank you, _no_. Rowena is _not_ my wife. That would make her a queen instead of a warden. Perish the thought."

The jester-king shuddered as though he had just heard something unspeakably horrible. Vanora was shocked all over again. "You didn't marry the mother of your child? You're even naughtier than I thought!"

The words were out before she realized she should keep that particular thought to herself. Just what was it about Malcolm that made her manners, maintained so carefully in front of everyone else, take a leave of absence even though he was the most important person of all?

But the king was smiling wryly. "Guilty as charged. I hope this won't cause you to think less of me."

_No more so than before_, thought Vanora, but she held her tongue this time.

Presently the nameless prince came back into the room, looking cross. He went over to his father and tugged his sleeve. "Come on, daddy—play!"

Malcolm wordlessly scooped him up and turned to go. Vanora wondered how soon it would be before she saw either of them again. She thought about it for a moment and decided that watching the little prince wasn't as horrible as she first thought it would be. "Oh—here."

She quickly retrieved the blue-and-white beanie from Faun's pillow and returned it to its owner's head. "Thanks," said Malcolm absently. "This is for you."

He tossed a small pouch at her and was gone. Vanora closed the door and took a peek inside the pouch; it was full of gold coins.

Remembering her manners, and how they always seemed to catch the jester-king off-guard, Vanora hurried to the open window. "Thank you," she called loudly.

After stashing the pouch in her pocket, Vanora went to work on repairing the bracelet. As it turned out the cord had simply snapped, and she easily restrung the beads and tied the cord back together. She then hurried up to Zanthia's room and took another look around. Nothing looked touched other than the nightstand drawer being partway open. She carefully returned the bracelet and closed the drawer, and not a moment too soon; from downstairs came the sound of the front door creaking open.

"Anything interesting happen while I was away?" Zanthia asked as Vanora came down the steps.

"No more than usual," said Vanora lightly.

She decided not to mention her new job just yet. She wasn't sure what Zanthia would say about it, or how she would feel when she realized that the little prince would be staying in her own home. Vanora thought she might, as a Royal Mystic, find some way to get her released from the job—and she wasn't sure she wanted to give it up just yet.

"I've a question," she announced, changing the subject. "Does white hair run in Malcolm's family?"

Zanthia gave her a funny look. "Not that I know of. Malcolm was a brunette when he was younger. Though now that I think about it, William's hair has always been the color of old steel, even when he was a boy. Which reminds me," she added with a sigh, "I'm expected at the castle tonight."

"What for?" asked Vanora with interest.

"Who knows?" replied Zanthia, sighing again. She moved past the other girl and mounted the stairs. Vanora followed at her heels. "Kallak is always summoning us Mystics," Zanthia went on. "Usually for matters that don't really need our personal attention, but he insists on bringing us in to 'discuss things in an orderly fashion'. Which means I'll have to stay late as we hash details, and then have to spend the night. But I'm sure you can find your own dinner."

The sudden shift in topic caught her slightly off-guard, but Vanora plunged ahead without hesitation. "Couldn't I go with you this once?"

Faun wasn't around, and neither was Doyle. Spending another night alone in the small cottage didn't appeal to her at the moment.

Zanthia appeared to think about it as she ran a brush over her long hair. "I don't see why not, but guests usually aren't allowed."

Vanora's face fell. Zanthia glanced at her before returning the brush to her nightstand. She turned around again, hands on her hips. "Oh, who do they think they're kidding? We don't have any important secrets to hide. I'll just say you're my apprentice. You are, after all."

Vanora's mood lifted in a hurry. "Really? Thanks, I guess I sort of am."

"Only we'll be expected to dress up," said Zanthia with a roll of her eyes. She looked like she wanted to go as she was, but she lifted her hand and snapped her fingers. Her plain blouse and skirt dissolved and was replaced by a gown of blue silk. Vanora eyed the pretty frock with admiration.

"I wish I knew how to do that," she murmured.

"You'll learn, someday," said Zanthia as she opened the nightstand drawer. "But you'll need your own private wardrobe first. I keep track of what you wear each day, but if we both start snapping it will probably get confused. Suppose one of us snapped and called up something the other was already wearing?"

"I see how that could be a problem," said Vanora, giggling.

Zanthia pulled out a silk ribbon that matched her gown and tied her hair back with it. When she finished, she also took out the recently repaired bracelet and slipped it on. Vanora's nerves fluttered as she watched, half-afraid the cord would split, but nothing happened.

"You take awfully good care of that," she observed as Zanthia adjusted the pretty piece of jewelry. Affection shone in the alchemist's eyes.

"Of course," murmured Zanthia. "Marko would have a fit if—I mean, of course I'm careful."

She shoved the drawer shut and turned for the bedroom door, but not before Vanora had seen the pink flush in her cheeks. Smiling to herself, the younger woman turned and opened the wardrobe. She felt around for a moment before she found the green dress she had worn once before. "Do you mind if I wear this one?" she asked, though she doubted Zanthia would care at all. It was a plainer fabric than the silk the alchemist was wearing, but Vanora liked the rich color of it.

"Not at all. Meet me in the laundry room when you've finished changing."

Zanthia headed down the steps, and Vanora changed out of her current attire and slipped into the soft green dress. Since she wasn't in a big hurry this time, she took a moment to study herself in the oval mirror that hung from the wall. Aside from the rich color, she also liked how the sleeves were long and snug, and how the skirt didn't billow out as much as most other skirts she wore did. As she smoothed out her curls, she suddenly remembered all the times people mentioned that she didn't look much like a witch.

As she studied herself, standing there in an emerald green dress with her mixture of light and dark curls softly curving over her shoulders, she noted that she looked less like a witch than ever. In fact, she was pretty sure she didn't look like a witch at all.

Remembering that Zanthia was waiting for her, she turned from the mirror and hurried downstairs. As soon as she entered the laundry room, Zanthia handed her a flask. "Hang on to that," she instructed.

Vanora stood back and watched as the alchemist pulled back the colorful rug that lay next to the laundry cauldron. Beneath it was a trap door, which she pulled open by a heavy iron ring. "This way."

Holding the flask in one hand and her skirt in the other, Vanora followed her down a set of stairs, through a small cellar, and then down a long tunnel. It was cool there, and quite dark, but Zanthia led the way with ease. They continued to walk down that path carved beneath the earth, until Vanora was certain that they had walked clear out of the swamp. They kept going for several minutes more, until they were suddenly mounting another set of stairs. Zanthia pushed open another trap door and sunlight shone down into the dark tunnel.

They emerged in a forest, and Vanora, who had to blink for a few minutes while her eyes adjusted, wondered if it somehow connected to the forest she visited when she went for water.

The trees weren't quite as tall, but they were even closer together, so close she couldn't see a clear path through them. The underbrush was as thick as it was colorful, and the scents in the air were almost overwhelming for a moment.

"Stay close," Zanthia told her.

Vanora gladly obeyed. The maze of trees was so tangled and confusing, she imagined she would get hopelessly lost if she tried to navigate on her own. Zanthia, on the other hand, marched ahead with calm, deliberate steps, weaving easily along an invisible trail.

Wondering if this was the way she always took to the castle, Vanora glanced down at the flask she was carrying. She sensed that it was a particularly special one; it tingled a little in her hand, and the liquid within was a mixture of yellow and pink. The two colors continuously swirled together as though they were dancing, and something twinkled amidst the color like stars. A glance at the flask in Zanthia's own hand told her that she was carrying the same type of potion.

The young alchemist turned abruptly, and Vanora almost stumbled as she hurried to follow. A few minutes later they suddenly left the forest and stood on a small riverbank.

"Where's this?" Vanora wondered, looking down at the white sand beneath her feet.

"This place touches the sea that's below the castle," Zanthia explained. "That's it there, by the way."

Vanora shielded her eyes and gazed at the horizon, which was alight with streaks of red and purple as the sun started to set. Far across the sparkling water was a winding cliff, and perched near the top was a white castle. As she watched, the setting sun slowly bathed it in red-gold light, until it looked like it had been set aflame.

"How are we going to get there?" she asked, her voice low with admiration.

Instead of answering, Zanthia moved to another part of the small beach and lightly kicked at the sand. "Stand here," she instructed.

Vanora looked down and noticed there was a circular pattern of gold and white on the ground. It took her a moment to realize that it was a round platform of some sort, half-buried in a thin layer of sand. "It's been a while since I've used this," said Zanthia, an apologetic note in her voice.

The undergrowth was trying to stretch across the beach, but Vanora spied a thin pillar that was mostly hidden in the nearby leaves. A figure that looked like it was made of solid gold perched proudly atop it; it was a pegasus.

A tapping sound made Vanora look away from the image; Zanthia was standing on the marble platform, and tapping her foot with a smirk. "Done gawking?"

"Yes."

Embarrassed, Vanora hurried to stand next to her. "What now?"

Zanthia held up the flask she had been holding. "Drink up."

Vanora looked down at her own flask with a touch of apprehension. "And then what?"

"And then we'll go to the castle."

She was being deliberately vague, and Vanora could swear she saw a twinkle in her blue eyes. She looked down at the flask again suspiciously, but she decided it couldn't contain anything _too_ horrible, if Zanthia was going to drink it, too.

Still, she hesitated a little more before bringing the mouth of the glass flask to her lips. The liquid tingled oddly as it entered her mouth, and the feeling spread as she swallowed. She felt it go down into her stomach, tickle its way through her core and into her limbs, until it was humming in her very veins. She vaguely noticed that Zanthia had drained her own flask and tossed it aside.

She wasn't sure what happened to hers—or her hands. All at once her normal limbs were gone, and she was hunching over like an animal. And then she was leaving the ground behind and rising up into the sky.

Vanora knew she should be scared, but she felt oddly disconnected from her emotions as she looked down and saw the beach growing smaller and smaller. She also saw four sleeks legs dangling below her, capped with pale brown hooves. White wings beat rhythmically on either side of her.

Tilting her head up, Vanora saw white hair whip in front of her eyes. She was flying toward the castle, though she wasn't sure how. She didn't feel like she had any control over what her body was doing, like drinking the potion had turned on a machine that would do what it was programmed to do, and all she had to do was relax and watch.

The ride was over before she knew it. She felt her feet touch the ground, and the next thing she knew she was herself again, tingling all over and breathless from what she had just experienced. All the emotion she expected to feel during the flight came rushing over her; shock, fear, puzzlement, wonder—but mostly she felt exhilarated.

She turned around and saw that Zanthia had landed beside her and was currently smoothing her hair. Vanora's green eyes were dancing. "Can we do that again?"


	16. A Princes Pain

**CHAPTER SIXTEEN: A PRINCE'S PAIN**

Vanora decided to fess up about her new job shortly after she and Zanthia left the mountainside they had landed near. They were heading to the castle, after all, and there was a chance that someone inside knew who she was and what she was now doing. Or, Zanthia might be home the next time 'Aiden' was dropped on the doorstep, so she figured she may as well confess now and get it over with.

Zanthia took the news rather well, though she looked a little shocked. "I guess the wilder a rumor is, the more likely it is to be true," she said dryly. "Though my mistake might simply have been doubting something about Malcolm. I should know better, considering how...colorful his life has been."

"He seems like a sweet enough kid," said Vanora decidedly. "A little mischievous, maybe, but that's to be expected at his age."

"Please tell me there isn't a mess hiding somewhere I didn't notice."

"I took him to Herb's," said Vanora, with a glance at Zanthia's bracelet.

"Oh. Well, so long as you keep him away from my stuff, I suppose it's okay. Though I have to wonder," she went on with a chuckle, "why Malcolm has taken such an interest in you."

Vanora was beginning to wonder that, too. "Isn't he a bother to pretty much everyone?"

"Not really. Not since he proved his innocence, at least. You hear stories from all over, since he refuses to stay put, but it seems like he basically keeps to himself nowadays. It's kind of hard to believe, looking back at all the trouble he used to cause, but I'm beginning to think all he really wants now is to be left alone."

"I'm pretty sure he has at least one playmate picked out," said Vanora dryly, making Zanthia chuckle.

"Don't worry. He may be king, but mostly everything he does has to make it past Kallak, first."

"So I've been told. What's he like, anyway?"

Zanthia quieted briefly as she thought about the best way to describe Brandon's grandfather. "Reliable," she finally decided. "He's reliable, thorough, well-read, and he's also trustworthy and honest."

"In other words, he's pretty boring."

Zanthia widened her eyes slightly in mock innocence. "How in the world did you reach _that_ conclusion? That certainly isn't what I was really trying to say..."

Vanora smirked. "Of course not."

After exchanging a grin, the pair continued down the path until they were away from the mountain and crossing a wide, grassy field. Vanora gazed around at the lush scenery, colored red and gold in the light of the setting sun. To the west was a thick clump of full, leafy trees, like a grove.

"What's that over there?" wondered Vanora, nodding in the direction of the trees.

"The Royal Cemetery," replied Zanthia. "It's where all members of the royal family are laid to rest."

Vanora nodded again and made a mental note to come back later to pay her respects, particularly at the graves of William and Katherine.

She paused, her feet amidst a clump of yellow flowers, as a sudden thought struck her. "After Malcolm was cleared of the crime, was the true culprit behind the murders ever caught?"

Zanthia stopped, too, and Vanora could tell by the blank look on her face that it had never occurred to her before. "Now that you mention it...no. We spent so much time believing Malcolm had done it, it's taken a while to adjust to the idea that he _didn't_ do it. There are still a lot of people who aren't quite convinced that he's innocent. And he isn't, when you really think about it. He might not have killed the King and Queen, but he's guilty of other crimes."

"But who's guilty of _this_ crime?" Vanora pressed.

"I really don't know," Zanthia responded, after hesitating for nearly a minute. "No one does, I guess."

Vanora didn't like the idea that the true killer had gotten away free and clean, and might still be lurking around somewhere. She hoped her simple question would lead to a proper investigation, so this part of Kyrandian history could finally be laid to rest.

Beyond the field was another winding path, which eventually lead to the castle gates. Zanthia strolled through them nonchalantly, with Vanora trotting nervously at her heels. She had never seen the home of Chairwitch Archaniz before, and she had never gone anywhere near the castle of the King of the Enchanted Forest. Her stomach felt like a tangled bundle of nerves as she and Zanthia stepped through the main entryway and entered the grand foyer of the old, elegant castle.

The interior of the castle was a lot like Vanora imagined it would be; bright shades of white and gray stone, shining marble floors, intricately woven tapestries, brightly colored coats of arms hanging from the walls, and scads of impressive hand-crafted statues and other works of art.

While Vanora quietly gawked at everything, Zanthia lead the way through the foyer, down a series of corridors, up a winding flight of stairs and down another series of corridors before she finally came to a stop in long, dimly lit room. Aside from a long wooden table flanked by rows of chairs, the room looked empty.

"Is this a dining room?" asked Vanora, still studying her surroundings with almost childish fascination.

"It used to be," replied Zanthia. "Now it's mostly used for meetings."

Hanging above their heads were several chandeliers, but the stubby candles they held weren't lit. If not for the candelabra on the table, the room would have been completely dark. Vanora secretly thought everything looked a little creepy; the flickering candles on the table cast long, dark shadows, and the perimeter of the room was completely hidden in heavy darkness. It was kind of cold, too, and Vanora shivered a little and rubbed her arms.

The sound of a nearby door creaking open made them both turn, and the short figure that tottered into the room matched a description Doyle had once given her; long white beard, pointy hat, and a blue robe speckled with stars.

"Ah, figures you would show up first," the diminutive being said in an aged but cheerful voice.

"Evening, Darm. What held you up this time?" Zanthia asked, with good-natured humor.

The short wizard gave his wrinkled, stubby hand a wave. "Ah, you know how Brandywine is when I try to brush her teeth. But I have to do _something_ with that horrid breath of hers at least once in a while."

"Having a mouth that smells like a smoldering fireplace must be very unpleasant," said Zanthia, eyes dancing.

Darm snorted at the idea. "You know that hasn't anything to do with it," he said, and took a seat at the table.

"What's he talking about?" Vanora asked in a whisper.

"Brandywine has odd tastes in cuisine," Zanthia whispered back.

"Such as?"

Zanthia looked at her a moment before answering. "She snacks on cats."

Vanora felt her eyes bulge in her head. "I'm sure glad Doyle isn't here," she muttered.

"It's not like he can understand us," Zanthia pointed out.

Vanora shrugged casually and pretended to be interested in the tipping candelabra. Zanthia sat down in the chair next to her and spent the next minute or so scraping the legs back and forth across the stone floor before finally finding a comfortable position. Darm, who was seated a few chairs down from her, was busy writing in a worn book that looked smaller than Vanora's fist.

For the next few minutes the only sounds were the scratching of an old pen across a crinkled page, and the sound of Vanora's fingers drumming on the tabletop. Zanthia, though she looked equally bored, shot her a stern look that reminded Vanora of the ones her mother used to give her when she fidgeted for too long, making her step away from the table meekly.

She turned around and nearly bumped into someone who had just entered the room. Though she had never seen him before, Vanora took a quick glance at his long gray robe, steel-colored hair and neatly clipped beard and knew at once who he was. "Hello, Kallak," she greeted uncertainly.

The tall, elderly man's dark eyes studied her briefly before turning to Zanthia. "It's a little unusual to bring a guest to a meeting of the Mystics, isn't it?"

"Oh, don't be so dramatic," said Zanthia with a roll of her eyes. "When was the last time we got together to discuss something important?"

"I consider all our meetings important," declared Kallak, while Vanora squirmed uncomfortably.

Zanthia just rolled her eyes again, suggesting that she hardly agreed. From across the table, Darm began to snore.

"If it bothers you that much, I suppose she can wander the castle until we're finished," said Zanthia, though she still didn't sound like she thought having Vanora hang around was a big deal.

Kallak appeared to think it over for a moment. "I suppose that would be all right," he allowed.

"I could show her around," a voice behind Kallak volunteered.

Vanora peered over the tall man's shoulder and saw Brandon coming through the shadow-bathed doorway.

"But I'd rather you stay and give your input," said Kallak with a frown.

"Since when do I have good ideas?" asked Brandon, to which Zanthia gave a vigorous nod of agreement. Darm continued to snore.

Kallak let out a sigh. "Very well. I'll fill you in over dinner. Just try not to wander off too far."

"I wasn't planning on leaving the castle," said Brandon impatiently.

"Just making sure. It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Vanora."

Vanora, startled at having the conversation turn her way so abruptly, stood up straighter. "Uh, thank you, sir. It was nice to meet you, too."

Brandon began tugging her hand. "Come on, let's leave the brilliant minds be."

"That'll do, Brandon," said Kallak sternly as he took a seat across from Zanthia.

Unmoved by his grandfather's tone, Brandon continued to tug Vanora along behind him, leading the way out of the room. They passed through a long hallway and another dark room before suddenly stepping outside into a vast courtyard.

"Sorry for the cold reception," said Brandon as he released Vanora's hand. "Grandfather didn't used to be so stiff."

Vanora nodded absently, only half-listening as she gazed around. The courtyard was full of perfectly trimmed trees and bushes, and the white brick paths were lined with rows of colorful flowers of all shapes and sizes. In the center was a tall, circular fountain, and Brandon went and sat on its rim.

"He's been like that ever since Malcolm became king," he went on, even though Vanora still wasn't really listening. She was busy admiring the way the light was hitting the water spouting above Brandon's head. He said something else, but she had zoned out completely.

"Hey, are you paying attention?" he suddenly asked loudly.

Vanora finally snapped out of her trance. "I'm sorry. What was that last part?"

Brandon sighed a little. "I was asking if you thought my decision was odd," he repeated.

"Oh, you mean..."

Vanora wasn't sure what to say. The Enchanted Forest was full of all sorts of oddities, but she had never heard of anything as strange as putting a jester on the throne. But she hadn't the heart to say so, not when Brandon's wide brown eyes were looking at her so earnestly.

"I'm sure you had good reason to do it," she said awkwardly.

"You think so?"

Brandon looked pleased with her response, but at the same time, there was a dry humor in his eyes. "True, I believed that given the circumstances, he had more right to my father's throne than I did. But when it comes down to it, the reason I gave it to him was extremely selfish."

Vanora frowned a little but said nothing, though she was starting to wonder why he was baring his soul to her like this. It wasn't like they knew each other very well.

The young prince was still studying her. "Don't you wonder what that reason was?"

She gave a small shrug.

"I just couldn't stand being king anymore. Just because I descend from royalty doesn't mean I can handle being a king."

Now Vanora was nodding, understanding. Zanthia's hunch about Brandon balking over reclaiming the throne had been correct. And Kallak probably knew how he felt, too, but hadn't any choice but to continue to prepare him, since there wasn't anyone else in line.

Apparently, melodrama in the royal family was common in any kingdom.

"What do you intend to do?" she asked as she sat down beside him.

"I don't think there's anything I _can_ do," said Brandon bitterly. "Malcolm isn't going to live forever, and neither is Grandfather. Once they're both gone I'll _really_ be in trouble."

"You have the Mystics," Vanora pointed out.

"I suppose," he agreed doubtfully.

"But if you _really_ don't think you being king is the best thing for Kyrandia," she went on slowly, "you can always appoint someone else, can't you?"

The suggestion made Brandon sit up straighter. "I never thought of that before. I think you're right; I _could_—but only if someone else could do a better job than I can, even with the Mystics behind me. Kyrandia comes before my personal feelings, after all," he finished with a sigh.

"Was that on your mind when you left Kyrandia in Malcolm's hands?" Vanora asked, a little dryly.

Brandon chuckled a little. "Of course. I knew that it didn't make much of a difference. Grandfather has been the one in charge ever since my father died. I knew putting Malcolm on the throne wouldn't change that. I wouldn't have done it otherwise."

"Oh," said Vanora, relieved.

"But that security will be gone once Grandfather leaves this world," Brandon added, sighing again.

"I'm sure you'll have it worked out before then," said Vanora confidently.

"I sure hope so."

A few seconds ticked by, and then Brandon stood up with a smile. "I believe I promised you a tour of the castle," he said, holding out his hand.

Vanora smiled in return as she took his hand and let him help her to her feet. "Lead the way, your highness."


	17. A Different Kind of Duty

**CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: A DIFFERENT KIND OF DUTY**

"By the way," said Vanora as she and Brandon left the courtyard, "exactly what are the Mystics discussing, anyway? Or am I not allowed to know," she added, remembering all the secret meetings her mother used to go to.

Brandon gave a roll of his eyes. "Grandfather was just being melodramatic. All they're doing is going over petitions and other matters that need tending to across the kingdom. They do the same thing around this time every year."

"Oh."

Smiling suddenly, Brandon gave her hand a tug. "Come on. You're studying to be an alchemist, right? I'll show you the library."

The long, empty corridors he pulled her down wound inward toward the center of the castle and were every bit as regal as the rest of the place. The more Vanora saw of it, the better she liked it. And, as she listened to him chatter as he tugged her along, she found that she rather liked Brandon, too.

He was kind of sweet—in a bumbling sort of way. Sort of like—she realized with a start—a certain wizard she was all too familiar with. Brandon's voice faded away into the background as her mind turned to Behelak, remembering how tired and unhappy he looked when she last saw him. She quickly made up her mind to visit Morning Mist as soon as she could to check up on him.

Behelak was forgotten again when they reached the library. It was everything Vanora imagined a royal library would be like and more; walls that seemed to extend for miles, ceilings so high it made her dizzy to look up at them, and more books than she could ever count crammed along every inch of the place. It all looked a little messy, but somehow managed to maintain the air of refinement and sophistication that hovered over the rest of the castle.

"It would take you a dozen lifetimes to read all of this," declared Vanora, awed.

"And yet Grandfather claims he's read them all," said Brandon, with more affection than scorn in his voice.

Picturing the elderly gentleman spending his life reading reminded Vanora of some peculiarities about the ages of the Mystics she had noticed. Going by the story Faun had told her, Zanthia, the youngest of the four, was still more than twice Brandon's age, whom she summarized was about the same age as herself. Despite this fact, the alchemist didn't look like she could be any more than two years older than either of them, which was impossible if she had already been an adult when Brandon was a baby. Vanora was getting the feeling that Kyrandians aged a little differently than the folk in the Enchanted Forest.

Or, she quickly realized, maybe they aged the same after all; magic users, like witches, tended to show the signs of aging slower than those who didn't cast spells on a regular basis. Having magic flow through one's being had a strangely rejuvenating affect.

"So," began Brandon in a conversational tone as he held up a book in each hand, "which do you prefer; fiction, or non-fiction?"

"Non-fiction," decided Vanora, eager to learn more of Kyrandia's history. The two sat down at a nearby table and spent the next hour or so flipping through different books and discussing local events spanning from recent to ancient history. In turn, Vanora found herself describing what her life had been like back home. But as she talked about the gatherings, the meetings, the special events only witches were invited to, she didn't feel as though she were describing anything she had personally experienced. While her mother had been close-knit with her fellow witches, Vanora could only remember staying off to the side, just outside the circle of events. She had been there, but she had never really been a part of it.

Brandon suddenly stood from the table and stretched. "I don't know about you, but I'm ready for dinner, Mystical Meeting or not."

Vanora looked up at one of the round windows in the ceiling and was surprised to see the moon peeking back at her. Having only had a quick lunch before racing home, she was growing quite hungry herself, and followed closely behind Brandon as he led the way back to the old dining room. When they arrived, Vanora saw that someone else had joined the three already seated at the table, a woman she assumed was the Mystic she hadn't met yet.

She was slender and had a delicate bone structure, and the hands resting on the table were long and slim. Her long hair looked a few shades darker than Zanthia's sun-kissed tresses and was styled so the upper half was coiled elegantly around her head, leaving the rest to hang loose around her shoulders. She turned around with a smile as Vanora and Brandon drew near, her blue eyes bright.

"Good evening, Brandon," she greeted warmly.

"Hi, Brynn," returned Brandon informally. He went around the table and sat down across from her.

Vanora stayed where she was as Brynn turned her attention towards her. "You must be Zanthia's new apprentice," she commented. "A pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise," said Vanora, smiling.

Something about Brynn made her feel relaxed and at ease. She had an almost motherly air about her.

"You're just in time," said Kallak as Vanora took a seat next to Brandon. "Dinner is almost ready."

"The meeting is over already?" Brandon sounded impressed.

"It's been a quiet year," commented Zanthia with a yawn. "I was actually pretty bored until my 'apprentice' showed up."

The Mystics glanced at Vanora, including Darm, who looked well-rested and ready to eat. Vanora gave a shrug and looked away, feeling shy.

A few minutes later several kitchen hands arrived, bringing dishes of various sizes. They worked around the table's occupants rapidly, depositing the dishes and platters and setting each of their places. While they worked, Vanora started to relax and listened to the conversation going on around her.

Kallak seemed to have gotten over his previous misgivings of having her around and described several issues he believed Brandon needed to handle. Across the table, Zanthia and Darm were deep in discussion. Vanora only caught bits and pieces of what they were saying, but she soon noticed that Darm's forgetful streak had a way of getting on Zanthia's nerves. Throughout the evening the alchemist went back and forth between laughing and grumbling at things the old but perky fellow said.

Brandon was busy conversing with Brynn, and judging by how easily she made him smile and laugh, Vanora had a feeling he was quite fond of her. And seeing how her eyes shone brighter whenever he spoke to her, she guessed that Brynn was fond of him, too. Smiling to herself, Vanora reclined in her chair comfortably. She was enjoying the sound of conversation around her, even if she wasn't really a part of it. Aside from Zanthia, Faun and Doyle had been her only real companions for the past month, so it was nice to be around other people for a change.

Conversation continued as the kitchen hands finished and the meal began. As everyone began passing dishes around and filling their plates, Vanora suddenly became aware of something she hadn't noticed before.

She was surrounded by other people, but she didn't feel uncomfortable. Everyone in the Enchanted Forest, especially witches, gave off their own form of energy, almost like a personal signature of power. Almost all witches could sense this (it was a good way to gauge how powerful someone was) but rarely was it considered a bother. In fact, Vanora was pretty sure she was the only witch to ever complain about it.

Vanora had noticed before that Kyrandians had their own kind of energy, but even though they were sitting close to her, it wasn't unpleasant. Looking back on the night of the wedding, she clearly remembered how stifled she had felt as she stood among so many other witches. Having so much magic clustered around her had made her skin feel itchy, and her head had started to swim after awhile. Having one of them brush against her by accident had been particularly uncomfortable.

Sitting so close to the powerful Mystics, Vanora could sense each one of them, but she didn't feel her usual reaction to cringe or to shy away. And Brandon, who had an energy that was as unique as it was strong, kept bumping her arm as he reached past her to add to his already full plate, but even that didn't bother her.

It felt funny to think that, after a month in Kyrandia, she hadn't noticed how the land and its people didn't interfere with her own energy. Or, she realized, because it didn't bother her was probably why she had failed to notice until now.

Suddenly feeling more light-hearted and happy than since she first arrived in Kyrandia, Vanora found herself laughing along with the others, and before she knew it she was talking just as animatedly as the rest of them. She was disappointed when dinner finally came to an end.

"It's awfully late, so we'll have to sleep here and leave in the morning," Zanthia told her as they left the dining room.

"Sounds good," said Vanora, yawning.

Content and sleepy, she followed at Zanthia's heels as the alchemist led the way deeper into the castle. In her hand she carried a slim candle holder, which she swept to the side to suddenly indicate to a door on the left side of the corridor.

"Here we are," she announced as she opened the door. "My home away from home."

She didn't sound particularly excited about it, but Zanthia rarely grew excited about anything. As she circled the room to light the other candles present, Vanora looked around.

Like the rest of the castle, the room was made of white stone, but the monotonous color was brightened with Zanthia's signature blue and purple style. There were a few tables, a long set of shelves along the back wall, a colorful rug on the floor, and a wardrobe that was a little smaller than the one in Zanthia's bedroom. Everything was covered with books and other objects and looked a little messy, but Vanora had a feeling that, like the cluttered work table, Zanthia had everything placed just where she wanted.

"I hope the night wasn't too boring for you," Zanthia commented as she went over to the wardrobe.

"Not at all," replied Vanora, yawning again. "I had fun."

Zanthia handed her a nightgown, which Vanora took and changed into eagerly. She was anxious to get to bed because, for the first time in a month, she was actually going to sleep in one.

The pair of beds against the wall opposite the shelves were small and simple, but Vanora's joints practically sang at the idea of not sleeping on the floor for a change. Zanthia noticed her eagerness and chuckled a little as Vanora nearly dove for the mattress.

"The sleeping arrangements haven't been very easy on you, have they," Zanthia noted.

Vanora shrugged as she absently ran her fingers through her curls. Zanthia gave her a knowing look before she sat down and began combing out her own long hair. "Okay, it's been a little rough," Vanora admitted with a smile. "But I don't mind; it's only temporary."

As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Vanora remembered something. She bolted off the bed and grabbed her skirt from the chair she had draped it on. Zanthia watched curiously as she dug around in the pockets for a moment. Relief filled her as her hand closed around the glass shard; she was lucky it hadn't fallen out during her busy day.

She crossed the room and held the shard out to Zanthia. "Here."

"What's this?"

"A piece of the mirror. I'd have given it to you sooner, but..."

"You certainly should have," cried Zanthia as she crossly snatched up the precious piece of glass. "How could you forget something so important?"

Vanora clasped her hands and looked down meekly. "Sorry," she murmured.

"Well, never mind," said Zanthia quickly, looking like she regretted her sudden outburst. "I guess you've had a lot on your hands today, what with your new job and all," she added with a grin.

"That _was_ a little distracting," Vanora agreed.

Zanthia looked thoughtful for a moment. "Now that I have a piece to work with, I should stay here where there are more resources. Can you make it back without me?"

"I suppose," said Vanora doubtfully. She hadn't ventured this far from the swamp before and wasn't sure she could find her way back on her own.

Seeing her expression, Zanthia suggested that she have someone show her the way. Vanora agreed that was probably a good idea. As she crawled into bed, she had a feeling she already knew who that someone would be.

After finishing with her hair, Zanthia read by candlelight for a little while. Tired from her long, near overwhelming day, Vanora was soon asleep. When she awoke the next morning, Zanthia was already gone, her bed neatly made. Feeling refreshed and eager to greet the day, Vanora got up and dressed quickly.

There was no one around when she left the large bedroom. Though she was a little worried about getting lost, she began to explore the many hallways, admiring how the castle looked in the daytime. She eventually reached a spot that looked familiar; she had wandered back to the library.

As she was walking past the massive door, someone suddenly opened it and stepped out, nearly bumping into her. "Oh, you're awake," Brandon greeted with a smile. "Zanthia told me to make sure you have something to eat before we leave," he added.

Vanora nodded; Zanthia had decided on the same escort she herself had. Smiling, she followed Brandon to the kitchen, where they sat down for a quick breakfast. The castle seemed quiet and empty that day. "Did everyone else leave?" she wondered.

"Oh, they're always busy," said Brandon, unconcerned. "Grandfather never tells me where he's going. It looks like Zanthia will be around for a while, though."

Vanora nodded absently, picturing the alchemist hard at work recreating the mirror that had sent her to Kyrandia in the first place. She hadn't had a chance to stop and think about it before, but now she pictured what would happen when the mirror was finished; she could finally go home. Her heart thumped in excitement at the thought.

After breakfast she and Brandon left the castle together, heading back in the direction she and Zanthia had come from. When they reached the grassy, flower-filled field, Vanora remembered the conversation from yesterday. She glanced at Brandon, who looked lost in thought, and decided now wasn't the time to bring up visiting the cemetery, or what she and Zanthia had discussed.

Brandon led her through the field and down to a spot below the cliffside she and Zanthia landed on, following a twisted path that reached the body of water they had flown over yesterday. There was a dock here, and a small boat was tied to it, helmed by a bored-looking sailor whose face was dark and lined from the sun. His countenance didn't change as Brandon instructed him to head for Morning Mist, and Vanora expected him to start yawning as he steered the small vessel away from land.

Having only traveled to the lakeside town from the swamp, Vanora drunk up the change of scenery as she took deep breaths of the cool, fresh air. Though Brandon stood close by, he didn't say a word the entire trip. Vanora didn't mind the quiet, but when she caught a glimpse of his solemn expression as the boat docked in Morning Mist harbor, she realized that there was something weighing on the young prince's mind. It wasn't until they had walked through the harbor and up the hill to the main part of town did he finally break the silence.

"I've been thinking about what we spoke about yesterday," he began, his voice low. He sounded tired, like his thoughts had worn him out. Vanora merely nodded, knowing he was referring to their conversation in the courtyard. "Truth is, I've been wracking my brain for someone who could do a better job ruling than me, but I'm drawing a complete blank. In case you haven't noticed, most Kyrandians keep to themselves. A king should be outgoing, well-spoken, well-educated and well-traveled. And," he added with a grim smile, "I'm not really any of those things."

Vanora nodded again, thinking about the smattering of Kyrandians she knew of. They were all good, hard-working people, but not really candidates for royalty.

"I was a special case," he went on with a heavy sigh. "Royalty is _supposed_ to be trained from babyhood, not tossed on the throne out of the blue like I was. After I got to thinking about that, I realized I don't need to find a replacement; I need an heir. That would solve my problem in a hurry, wouldn't it? Even a young king would be better than me; I heard that my father was crowned at fourteen after _his_ father died from illness. But that," he added with a bitter chuckle, "presents a whole new problem; where I am going to find a queen?"

He glanced sidelong at Vanora, as if daring her to agree with the opinion he obviously had about the subject; that no one in their right mind would marry him. Instead, Vanora found herself picturing a certain pretty Mystic, whom she rather doubted would feel very put upon if Brandon suddenly proposed.

Rather than say so (she didn't want to embarrass him) she decided to let him in on Malcolm's little 'secret'.

It took her several minutes to convince him that she wasn't joking. When it finally sunk in, Brandon quickly went from stunned silent to happy and excited. "Do you realize what this means?"

Though she was pretty sure that she did, Vanora smiled and shook her head. "It means I don't have to worry about an heir or a successor, of course. Malcolm's or not, he's sure to make a better ruler than I ever could—provided he's taught properly. He should be brought to the castle as soon as possible, where he can be schooled in history and kingly etiquette and so on. I'll help, of course," he added with a grin.

He spoke so enthusiastically, Vanora couldn't help laughing a little. No doubt about it; Brandon was born a follower, not a leader. Giving someone else support sat much better on his young shoulders than bearing the responsibility himself, so much so that his steps looked ten times lighter as they strolled through the town square together.

"I should get back soon," Brandon decided. "Grandfather needs to know about this."

"Just don't mention to anyone where you got this information," Vanora warned. "I've already had Malcolm mad at me once, and I really don't want him to have it out for me again."

Brandon promised, with a wry grin, to be irritatingly vague. Vanora laughed again and wished him luck. With another grin, the young prince gave her a quick hug before rushing back to the harbor. After he was gone, Vanora turned and gazed in the direction of the tavern, trying to decide if it was too early for lunch or not. She was still mulling it over when someone cleared their throat behind her.

Surprised, Vanora turned around and saw Behelak standing near the fountain. He had shaved since yesterday (had it really only been yesterday that he had given her the mirror?) and his hair looked like it had been combed a bit, though it was still scraggly. His arms were folded and he looked annoyed.

"I'd no idea you'd gotten so close to the royal family," he observed dryly.

Vanora thought about her little feud with Malcolm and had to struggle not to wrinkle her nose. "Close is rather strong a word."

"Could've fooled me."

His tone made her cock an eyebrow; back home, they were often angry and glaring daggers at one another, but the intense scowl he was currently throwing her way had her puzzled. "We were just discussing the possibility of putting one of his relatives on the throne a few years from now," she explained, though she had a feeling he had been listening to the conversation and knew the details already. "A new mirror is being created as we speak," she added, hoping the thought of going home would cheer him up.

"That's nice. What was the hug for?"

This time she cocked both eyebrows. So a prince had hugged her; so what? "I guess being relieved of the burden of leadership made him happy," she said, shrugging.

Behelak rolled his eyes. "Yes, I've heard stories of him blatantly dodging his duties whenever possible. He doesn't sound very responsible."

"You know what I'm talking about, then."

Instead of answering, the young wizard studied her hard, his narrowed eyes boring into her own. She wasn't sure just what he was looking for, and watched with puzzlement as his features slowly relaxed. "You've always been sensible and level-headed. Too much so for someone as flaky as him, huh? Sorry I doubted you."

"Uh, right," said Vanora, not understanding what he meant.

Behelak strolled past her, heading toward the harbor. "If you're hungry, they're serving scallops in the pub today," he called back over his shoulder. "I ought to know; I delivered them."

Vanora quickly forgot about the wizard's odd behavior as she began envisioning a plate of fresh scallops, with a steaming baked potato and a moist salad on the side. The mouth-watering image popped like a soap bubble as another image entered her thoughts; the shopping bag she had forgotten on the ground yesterday.

She hurried to check all around the area she remembered dropping it, but it was gone. But, she slowly realized, Zanthia wouldn't be home for a while. She could eat lunch and then shop at her leisure, and no one would be the wiser. Smacking her lips, she turned and headed down the road to the Drunk Dragon.


	18. Seeds of Doubt

**CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: SEEDS OF DOUBT**

When Vanora returned to the little cottage in Darkmoor, she found Doyle sunning himself on the windowsill, and Faun was tinkering with his collection of odds and ends in the corner. His shelves were messy to begin with and he didn't seem to notice that someone else had recently rummaged through everything. Smiling to herself, Vanora breezed into the kitchen to put away the groceries.

She had the shopping bag almost empty when Faun came scampering in. He climbed into a chair and watched her for a while, though he didn't ask if she had found the original bag or if she had resorted to buying everything twice. Knowing how short his attention span was, Vanora doubted he even remembered her mistake. She smiled to herself.

"You look awfully happy," Faun observed.

Vanora was quiet for a moment, absently wiping her hands on her dusty skirt. "I am," she realized. "I don't think I had a chance to mention it yesterday, but I found a piece of the mirror in Morning Mist."

Faun scratched his ear, his tiny nose scrunched up. "What's it supposed to do? I forget."

Vanora smiled to herself again; she had suspected during their long hunt that he didn't quite fathom why finding a mirror piece was so important to her. "Well, now that Zanthia has it, she can create the same mirror that sent me here."

"Oh, that's right. What for?"

"Why, so I can go home, of course."

Faun stopped scrunching his nose and looked at her. His usually perky mouth had changed to a hard frown. "What do you mean, 'go home'?"

Vanora gave him a puzzled look. "I mean, go back to the Enchanted Forest, where I belong. You didn't forget that I'm not from around here, did you?"

"Well, no, but..."

The child-like being rubbed his drooping ear as he fumbled over his words. "But I thought—I thought you decided that _this_ was your home now. I thought you were going to stay and be my friend forever."

Vanora was so startled, for a moment all she could do was stare. Stay in Kyrandia forever? The idea had never entered her mind. But, from the deeply hurt and confused look he was giving her, it was obvious that the idea had entered Faun's.

"But we _will _always be friends," she promised. "Only..."

_Only we'__ll probably never see each __other again, _she realized_._

Before she could think of something else to say, Faun hopped down from the chair and ran out of the room, hooves clacking on the hard floor. Vanora hurried to follow, but he was out the front door and running off into the swamp before she made it half-way across the room. Sighing, she went to close the door, a tightness growing in her chest.

As she turned back towards the kitchen she noticed that Doyle was sitting up, his gray eyes watching her like twin moons. She frowned at him; there was something strange in those eyes, something she couldn't quite name. "Something on your mind?"

The sleek cat made a noise like a curt chuckle as he got to his feet, arching his back as he turned away. "You have no idea, little one. No idea at all."

He leaped through the open window and was gone. Vanora stared at the now empty sill, feeling confused. She thought Doyle would be overjoyed to be going home, but he didn't show a hint of caring. But she knew he must be happy about it; he hated the swamp. He wanted to get back to the Enchanted Forest even more than she did...didn't he?

She had thought so, but now she wasn't so sure. She felt guilty, too; she hadn't known Faun had grown so attached to her that the thought of her going away nearly brought him to tears.

Needing someone to pour out her thoughts to, she stepped outside and sat down on the front step to talk to the frog, who watched her with his chin rested on a mossy boulder. She doubted her understood a word she said, but it didn't really matter; she wasn't sure she understood, either.

"You know, if you walk just a little deeper into the swamp, you can find amphibians that talk back."

Vanora was too distracted by her own thoughts to feel startled by the sudden voice, or feel uneasy as to why the speaker might be visiting so suddenly. She just let out a sigh and poked a nearby pebble with her toe. "Hello, your highness."

Malcolm strolled over and hopped nimbly to perch on the boulder, making the frog sink back into the swamp with a gurgle. "Please stop calling me that. It makes me nervous."

Despite her dreary mood, Vanora chuckled, albeit weakly. "Good. You behave better when you're nervous."

Instead of replying, the naughty king tapped the side of his foot against the boulder as he eyed her, making the pom-pom on his shoe bounce. Vanora watched him warily in return; did he know that she had spread the news about his son? Despite Brandon's promise to not mention who had told him, she knew that it really didn't do any good. She had been the first one to see the snowy-haired prince in person, so it wouldn't be hard for Malcolm to figure out who had blabbed once word got around.

"Need me to baby-sit again?" she ventured.

"Nah."

Chin propped in his hands, Malcolm continued to tap his foot. Vanora squirmed on the step, wondering just what it was he wanted. He hadn't come all the way to the swamp for nothing.

"Know what I just found out?"

Vanora wordlessly shook her head.

"That silly woman named him after me. _Me_. Can you believe it?"

He shuddered like he had just heard something horrible. Vanora wasn't sure why the idea bothered him, so she just nodded. "I'll make sure not to call him Aiden anymore."

Malcolm snorted. "Are you kidding? _Anything_ is better than..." He grimaced. "'Malcolm Jr.' Naming your kids after yourself is so—so _narcissistic_."

Vanora wasn't sure what surprised her more; that he liked the name she had picked out, or that he actually knew what narcissistic meant. "What's it mean, anyway?" he wondered.

She sat up straighter. "Aiden? Um...it means 'little flame'."

Malcolm burst out laughing. "My little ball of fire, huh? That's perfect."

"You can't be serious," Vanora cried before she could stop herself. "I mean," she added, flushing, "you can't actually be renaming your son after something _I_ said."

Chin still resting on his clasped hands, Malcolm studied her a moment. He looked pleased to have made her so flustered. "Why not?"

"What do you mean, 'why not'?"

The question made her even more flustered. Informally done or not, choosing the name for a prince seemed far too big an honor, an honor she definitely hadn't earned, or deserved. She wasn't even a resident of Kyrandia, and said so.

"What's that got to do with anything?" asked Malcolm. He gave a wave of his hand, and Vanora knew the subject had officially been dismissed. She flushed again, knowing full well that the little prince would be bearing her nickname for him for the rest of his life. She hoped no one ever found out about this; how would she ever explain it?

The only thing she could think to say if asked was that the king liked her—or liked to annoy her, at least.

"You think I can be bothered to come up with something myself?" he asked with a mischievous grin. "Look how long it took me to ask in the first place."

Vanora grew quiet, knowing the argument was beyond hope. She sat back and thought about how he went over two years without knowing his son's name, and how knowledge of his existence was nothing more than a rumor no one believed, even though he was, by right of birth, next in line for the throne. She had had her doubts about it earlier, but now she realized that being cared for by Brandon and the Mystics was a far better life for him than being left alone with Malcolm.

"You're a lousy father," she declared, too worn out to worry about getting him mad.

Malcolm just gave her a look that was suspiciously smug. "I know. Why else do you think I left him with you?"

Vanora opened her mouth to say that he had done it to bug her, but stopped herself short. That smug expression told her that that was true, but underneath it was something else. Something that suggested that leaving the little prince with her hadn't been decided at random.

Guilt crept over her as she got to her feet. "Well, you'll be needing a new baby-sitter soon. I won't be around much longer."

Now Malcolm looked puzzled. "I thought you'd taken root in the swamp for good."

Faun had thought the same thing. As she shook her head, Vanora started to wonder just how many others believed that her unexpected visit had turned into permanent residence.

Malcolm hopped down with a sigh. "That's disappointing. Who am I going to play with now?"

"I'm sure you'll be fine," Vanora said dryly. She thought it was funny that both he and Faun viewed her as a playmate despite the vast difference in age. She would have laughed—if her heart hadn't grown uncomfortably heavy as she remembered how distraught Faun had looked.

Pushing the image from her mind, she bade the jester-king a brief farewell and went back inside. With no one around now, she was left alone with her own troubled thoughts. She felt bad for Faun, but what could she do? Leaving him behind was inevitable, she had known that from the start. She just hadn't expected the thought of never seeing him again--or any other part or person of Kyrandia--to hurt so much.

Not wanting to think about it anymore, she sat down on Faun's pillow and focused all her mind on Zanthia's potion primer until dinnertime.


	19. A Day of Revelations

**CHAPTER NINETEEN: A DAY FULL OF REVELATIONS**

Vanora spent the rest of the week and all of the next alone. Before she knew it, two long weeks had passed since the day she left Zanthia back at the castle. During this time, she kept an eye out for Faun, but the only one lurking around the cottage was Doyle, though she caught only glimpses of him. She stayed busy by paying visits to Herb and to Morning Mist, and by keeping the house tidy and continuing to work on her alchemy. She was sitting in the middle of the floor, gloomily improvising ingredients when she realized something that made her stop in amazement.

It hadn't been all that long since she had first learned it, but preforming alchemy was so easy and natural to her now, it felt like she had been doing it all her life. And she hadn't noticed until now but, try as she might, she couldn't really remember her old spells anymore. Her mind used to be a catalog of ancient charms and enchantments, but now all her witch knowledge was fuzzy at best. Behelak had told her he felt like his mind had been wiped clean when he first awoke in Kyrandia, and it seemed that the same thing had happened to her—just slower.

She sighed in frustration as she thought about what this would lead to when she returned home; she would have to learn how to be a witch all over again. But as she went upstairs to return Zanthia's book of advanced potions (she wasn't around to scold her for trying them, after all) a thought that had been threatening to form for days burst forward; maybe she had forgotten so easily because she just wasn't cut out to be a witch.

She hastily pushed the dangerous thought away and went back downstairs. To her surprise, Doyle was sitting on Zanthia's writing desk, casually cleaning himself like he had been there the entire time. Vanora decided to ignore him and went to see if the laundry she had washed that morning was dry.

As she was testing the hem of a skirt there was a knock at the door. She wondered who it could be as she hurried to open it, knowing that neither Zanthia or Faun would knock. Malcolm would, though—like a hammer.

After opening the door, she thought for a moment that Darm's dragon, Brandywine, had suddenly stopped by for a visit. But the being hovering outside, though purple and dragon in shape, was only slightly larger than a person. Far too small to be a real dragon, who she heard were as big as houses.

"Can I help you?" she asked politely.

Fluttering on thin, gossamer wings, the being adjusted a brown cap on its head before reaching into a bag hanging from its waist. A bag that a mail-carrier used; Vanora realized that this must be the delivery dragonfly Herb had mentioned to her once or twice.

"I've a message for you from Zanthia," he told her, handing her a letter.

Vanora took it eagerly before turning to thank him, but he was already fluttering off. She watched him disappear into the sky before closing the door and tearing the envelope open. Her hands trembled a little as she read the contents.

"Something exciting?" questioned Doyle, with an indifferent flick of his tail.

Vanora folded the letter again. "She's almost finished," she murmured.

"Ah."

Doyle stretched briefly and turned to face the window. Vanora went back to the laundry, but she couldn't concentrate anymore, knowing that in a day or two she might be home again. After fumbling with a blouse she was trying to fold for several minutes, she gave up and went to stand near Doyle.

"I'm heading to Morning Mist," she announced as she gazed outside. Thin wisps of sunlight were peeking through the trees, stretching across the mossy ground like long, golden fingers.

Doyle flicked his tail again. "Have fun."

But Vanora didn't want to go alone. "It might be the last time we see it," she said pleadingly.

"_I've_ never seen it," he reminded her.

"See? You have to come, or you'll miss your chance," she said logically. "Come on, one little ferry ride won't hurt."

Doyle turned and hopped from the desk with as dramatic a sigh as a cat could muster. "You'll be the death of me yet," he declared, but he followed her outside.

Vanora took her time walking to the ferry. As she moved through the swamp, she took in everything she could; the way the trees dangled their curling leaves over the water; the fragrant smell of the moss beneath her feet; the gentle chirps of the tiny frogs that played at the waters edge. When she reached the clearing with the large, deadly-looking plants, she did something she knew she shouldn't. She went over and lightly ran a hand along one of the trunk-like stems.

A leaf shivered under her hand and one of the toothy heads turned in her direction with a grunt, but that was all the reaction she got. Smiling, Vanora continued down the path.

"Seems like Zanthia's reckless behavior has rubbed off on you," observed Doyle, with obvious disdain.

Vanora could think of a lot of words to describe the no-nonsense alchemist, but reckless wasn't one of them. "How so?"

"I've seen her stroll through here. She pokes the gators, just for the fun of it."

Vanora knew she should be shocked, but the image just made her laugh; from what she knew, that wasn't out of character for her. Doyle shook his head.

When they reached the ferry, Vanora was almost to tempted to give Brueth a hug, just to shock him. But he would probably be so embarrassed he wouldn't let her ride, so kept her urges in check. She kept her thoughts in check, too; her mind had been all over the place for days and she didn't want it getting away from her at the wrong time.

"No pets," the fairy said as she scooped Doyle into her arms.

Vanora had expected as much, and gave him the saddest face she could muster. "But this might be my last trip ever," she said, pouting. "I'll be going home soon, and then I'll never be able to ride to Morning Mist again."

As soon as the words were out, she knew they were a mistake. A huge lump formed in her throat, making her eyes sting with tears. Brueth turned away with a loud 'harrumph'. "Don't go doing that. You want the darn cat to ride? Fine. Just don't blame me if he jumps overboard."

"Yeah, right," muttered Doyle, ears flat as Vanora carried him onto the small boat.

Vanora didn't say anything; she was too busy fighting back tears. Despite Doyle's protests, she went to the railing and looked out across the lake. The mountains on the horizon looked particularly colorful that day. The sky above was cloudless and clear, letting the sun shine down on the water freely. The brightness made her squint, but Vanora didn't take her eyes off the lake until the ferry docked in Morning Mist harbor.

Once they were safely away from the water, she set an indignant Doyle on the ground. He looked around him, nose twitching, before casting a glance at her. "I hope you realize," he said slowly, "that I didn't come here for _your_ sake."

Vanora wasn't in the mood to ask what he meant. She headed up toward town, pausing to gaze at the bizarre fish-shaped building along the way. When she had asked, she was told that it was a prison, but she wasn't sure she quite believed it.

The town square was busier than usual. New shipments must have just arrived, she realized, and a mixture of sailors and local men carried boxes and crates to the nearby stores. Vanora watched them for a while, hoping that Behelak was among them, but there was no sign of the green-garbed wizard. Disappointed, she sat on the fountain's rim for a while, watching the seahorse-shape spew water into the air.

When she finally tore her eyes away and looked around, Doyle had vanished. Sighing in frustration, Vanora got up and starting marching toward a nearby shop, thinking about picking up a few things and chatting with the shopkeeper for a while—and stopped short as her eyes fell on a figure standing near the door.

He stood tall, his head held high, his blue eyes wide and bright. Sunlight kissed his hair, turning it into a hazy glow of yellow hanging down below his shoulders. He was dressed in a simple blue robe that reached his feet, with sleeves that half-hid his hands and a slim brown belt around the waist. A cloak of a paler blue was wrapped loosely around his neck, framing his smiling face as he laughed at something one of the other workers was saying.

Vanora stared through a faint mist of water. It couldn't be Behelak—it _couldn't_. It had only been two weeks since she had seen him last. But somehow, in that brief time, he had transformed completely. He didn't look tired and weak anymore. He was still slim, but as he hoisted a crate in his arms, his chest looked significantly broader through his robe. He looked strong and full of energy. He looked _happy_.

He was also headed her way. Vanora turned and bolted between the space of two other shops, where she watched from behind a barrel as he and the others went by. Her own actions bewildered her; _why_ was she hiding? And why was her heart jumping around in her chest like a bird ready to burst from its cage?

"You look a little warm," a voice behind her observed.

Vanora's heart stopped briefly from the sudden fright, but then it went on merrily thudding away with enough force to crack a rib. "It's hot out," she retorted, grumpy at him for startling her, and for wandering away like that.

"I don't think it's the sun that has your blood racing like that."

Vanora absently rested a hand on her cheek; it was extremely warm, and she knew her face had to be bright red. "I must be coming down with something," she murmured.

Doyle let out the cat's version of a snort. "When are you going stop living in denial and finally admit that you and that boy are meant for each other?"

Vanora almost fell over. "Have you gone mad?" she demanded as she leaned a hand on the barrel to steady herself. "A witch and a wizard? That's crazy talk."

"It's the truth," said Doyle simply.

"Since when?"

"Since always. I knew the moment I saw how happy you were the first time you tossed him into the mud. You two were made to be together, pure and simple."

"Now you're just being stupid," Vanora muttered. "I did that because I _had_ to, not because I enjoyed it."

"Did so. Every time that boy came nosing around, your eyes lit up and you took off running."

"Because he needed to be taught a lesson."

"Perhaps," Doyle allowed. "But not half as much as because you love him."

Vanora leaned on the barrel a little too hard, making it topple over. She stumbled and fell onto the grass, but she hardly noticed the dull pain the impact caused. "You've definitely lost it," she muttered. She rubbed her cheek with the back of her hand; her fingers felt like ice, but her face was like fire.

Doyle just smiled, as well as a cat could smile. "That door swings the other way, you know. There were plenty of other witch houses he could snoop around, and easier targets, too. Why do you think he always came by ours, even though he knew you would be standing between him and his loose little fingers?"

Vanora pulled her knees to her chest and said nothing. She didn't want this conversation to continue a second more, because she had a dreadful suspicion that Doyle was right.

"It's not like it matters either way," she muttered darkly. "I'll be home soon, and _he_ looks perfectly happy right where he is."

She pictured going back without him, and spending the rest of her life in peace and quiet. To not catch him sneaking around anymore and have to go chasing after him. Her heart tightened painfully.

Doyle stood suddenly, and Vanora saw a hardness in his eyes she had never seen in them before.

"I've something to say, and I want you to listen carefully."

Vanora rested her hands on her knees, eyebrows raised curiously. "I'm sure you've noticed by now," said Doyle, "but things have changed between us since we came here."

She didn't wonder what he meant. Back in the Enchanted Forest, Doyle had been her one and only friend. He stayed at her side at all times, leaving her only when she needed him to gather bits of information only he could learn. He had been her companion, her confidant, her miniature caretaker. In Kyrandia, it was if that role had vanished.

"To put it simply, you don't need me anymore. You haven't for a while, but I stayed by you out of loyalty to your mother."

The words surprised her; didn't he feel any loyalty to _her_?

"But it's different now. You've obtained abilities you didn't have before. I've grown too old to keep chasing after you, and I don't want to. I want to live the rest of my days alone, quietly. I didn't care for the swamp, but this place seems good."

Vanora stared at him in shock, not believing what he was saying. "You can't mean that you want to stay _here_—as in not go back to the Enchanted Forest," she cried.

"That's exactly what I mean," he said calmly. "I can't say I like it any better—not the land itself, at least. Nothing will ever be like home, but if I go back _there_, I'll have to deal with other cats again, to say nothing of the rest of the wildlife. It's different here. I can't understand what they say, and they can't understand me. I can, for the first time in my life, be left alone. No one will bother me here."

When he finished speaking, Doyle watched her expectantly, waiting for her response. Vanora pressed her chin to her knees and didn't speak. She knew she should feel upset, that tears should be in her eyes, but there weren't any. She was too angry to cry.

"I'd wondered for a while," she muttered, "just how well I really knew you. I now realize that I never knew you at all. But even though I'm nothing more than a bother to you, I still hope you'll be happy here."

Doyle looked surprised. He hesitated, then nudged her knee with his head, a rare sign of affection. "It wouldn't be like that, if you'd just admit that you're supposed to stay, too."

Vanora bolted to her feet, making him jerk back in surprise. "I can't believe you'd even suggest that," she hissed angrily. "I like it here, but I can't _live_ here."

"Why not?" Doyle wanted to know. "Did it ever occur to you that the reason you adapted to life here so easily is because you just aren't meant to be a witch? If you went back now, without me or your mother, just what would you be going back for?"

Vanora didn't answer. She couldn't, because that _had_ occurred to her, and she was too afraid that he might be right.

Doyle slipped past her ankles and darted across the sunny town square. "Give the others my best," she heard him call out, his voice lilting through the air like a breeze. Vanora wondered which 'others' he was talking about; their neighbors in the Enchanted Forest, or the people they had come to know here in Kyrandia.

One thing she knew for sure, as she watched him disappear through the town's main gate, heading off into the wooded area beyond; she knew in her heart she would never set eyes on him again.


	20. Vanora Decides

**CHAPTER TWENTY: VANORA DECIDES**

Vanora spent the next few days locked away in the little cottage, mostly dwelling on Doyle's decision to leave her. She knew he was right, that it wasn't fair—or common—to have such an elderly cat following her around when she was still so young and active. Most witches would have 'retired' him by now, leaving him to relax in comfort at home and tote along one of his children in his place.

But Doyle never fathered any kittens and, though it was unusual to have only one cat when most other witches had anywhere between two and a dozen, Vanora never had any desire to find another one. He was her mother's cat, that was the only reason they had been together so long. His abrupt departure and declaration that it was because of her memory that he had stayed for so long stung a bit, but Vanora realized she was no better; if he hadn't been her mother's cat, she would have left him behind ages ago.

Then there was what he had said about her and Behelak—but she was trying hard not to think about that. And there was also what he had said about not going back to the Enchanted Forest—but she was trying hard not to think about that, either.

She was concentrating hard on keeping her mind completely blank when Zanthia suddenly swooped in through the front door. Vanora was so startled she nearly fell backwards out of the desk chair.

"Don't act happy to see me or anything," joked Zanthia as Vanora held a hand over her pounding heart. She looked tired, but pleased with herself as strolled into the back room. There was an object wrapped in cloth tucked under her arm.

Vanora stared blindly at the stack of papers in front of her until Zanthia returned, her heart thumping so hard she could feel the pulse at the tips of her fingers. Zanthia unfolded an easel-like stand, placed it in the middle of the room and propped the covered mirror on it. Vanora's own reflection came into view as Zanthia pulled the cloth off the mirror, though she didn't remember getting up from the desk. The quiet sounds of the swamp seemed to disappear, until the only thing she could hear was a dull rushing sound in her ears as she gazed at the mirror's surface.

It wasn't like the surface of an ordinary mirror. It was too smooth, and the image it showed was too sharp. Vanora felt funny inside, as though all she had to do was take a step and she could leave the cottage behind and enter another world. Despite the butterflies in her chest, she reached out and rested her fingertips against the cool glass. A shiver ran through her.

"I followed the description you gave me as best I could," Zanthia was saying, though her voice sounded oddly far away. "It's not as fancy as the original, but the frame doesn't really matter if the enchantment works, right? Although," she added as Vanora began to nod mechanically, "It doesn't work _quite _like the original."

Vanra pulled her eyes away from the mirror and looked at her. Zanthia spoke lightly, but there was a faint tightness in her expression, as if she were worried about how Vanora was going to react. "What's the difference?" Vanora prodded after the silence had stretched on a little too long.

"I could only make it so it will work once. After you've sent yourself home, you won't be able to use it to go anywhere else. It'll just be an extra pretty mirror."

Vanora felt her insides lurch. The idea that she might not ever see Kyrandia again had been itching at the back of her mind for days, but now the idea came forward and became fact. Once she completed the spell, she would be leaving behind everyone she knew here...forever.

Zanthia murmured something and moved past her, but Vanora didn't catch what she said. Her mind was struggling with the truth she had just learned--but at the same time it was, without her permission, trying to form a clear picture of home. A picture of her own home flitted through her mind, mingling with her thoughts of the swamp, the harbor, and the castle. She saw scattered bits of the Enchanted Forest, but nothing that made a whole picture, a clear destination the mirror could send her to. She was fighting it off, not ready to go just yet. Her face lined with concentration as she stared hard at the too perfect image of herself in the mirror. And suddenly she realized something, something that hadn't occurred to her before.

Of all the things she had come to care about in this land, she loved studying alchemy the most. She loved putting together potions and useful spells and all the other things she had learned during her time here. It was so easy for her it was like second nature now, unlike studying to be a proper witch. Chanting rhyming spells, waving her fingers and keeping her tools tucked in her sleeves had never stopped feeling awkward to her, no matter how long she studied or how hard she tried.

But bringing alchemy to the Enchanted Forest was completely out of the question. Most witches, especially the older ones, didn't handle change very well. Introducing a whole new system would turn the entire community on its head. She would just have to...

Her jumbled thoughts jerked to a halt; someone was knocking on the front door. They were knocking softly, but Vanora jumped so hard they may as well have been using a battering ram.

Zanthia was busy writing something at the desk. Vanora, with a hand lightly patting her jittery heart, made a move to answer, but she paused. Despite all the time she just spent here alone, it was Zanthia's home, not hers. She shouldn't race to the door or invite people in without permission. But the alchemist was absorbed in her work and didn't seem to have noticed, so she went over and quietly opened the door.

Her heart started fluttering like a crazed bird again; Behelak was standing on the doorstep.

Vanora glanced back at Zanthia, but her head was down as she leafed through a stack of papers, her brow slightly wrinkled with concentration. Vanora waved Behelak back, stepped outside and quietly closed the door behind her.

"I came to say goodbye," Behelak said before she had a chance to so much as gather her thoughts. "Doyle told me he saw the woman you've been staying with pass through town with the new mirror, and he said it was doubtful that you would be staying. I figured I had better come by before it was too late."

For a moment Vanora could only look at him. It wasn't hard to figure out that he, like Doyle, had decided that Kyrandia was the place for him. She had been trying hard not to think about what life would be like without either of them, but now she was forced to picture herself going back alone, and her throat grew uncomfortably tight. And then the meaning of something else he said began to sink in, making her frown in puzzlement.

"Doyle couldn't have told you that." That was one trick of the trade all witches knew; the only one who could understand a cat's speech was the witch who owned him, or her. Other witches couldn't understand cats that weren't their own, though messages could be relayed between their cats and someone else's. And non-witches couldn't understand cat speak at all.

Instead of explaining himself, Behelak smiled at her, the soft light outlining the curve of his face.

Vanora had never given his looks much thought before, but the changes he had gone through during his time in Kyrandia practically demanded her attention. Growing his hair long and leaving his face clean shaven—the exact opposite of what a wizard was supposed to do—was extremely becoming on him. The soft blues he now wore also suited him well, much better than dark greens had. Looking at him now she could scarcely believe he was the same little boy she had grown up with. The one she used to chase around and around her mother's house, or fling harmless spells at and laugh as he ran away screeching, or—as Doyle had reminded her—wrestle with and gleefully push into the mud.

But no matter how much he changed outwardly, she knew she would always be able to recognize him. All she had to do was look for that glint of mischief in his eyes. Though as she looked at him, she didn't see any sparkle in his bright blue eyes. Only thinly veiled sadness.

"I've something I need to tell you," he began softly, "even though I know you'll probably scold me for it."

Vanora glanced away from him and down at her fidgeting hands. "Bel, you don't have to explain why-"

"I do," he said, gently cutting her off. "I want you to know how things used to be for me, and how I came to the choice I've made, even if you think I'm a weakling because of it."

"I wouldn't," Vanora murmured, but he just smiled grimly and continued.

"Did you ever wonder why I never took my staff anywhere?"

"Because they're forbidden in the Enchanted Forest," she said promptly. A wizard's staff was a thief's tool, her mother had often said. It sucked up every trace of magic around it, storing the energy until the wizard carrying it needed it. It was particularly dangerous to the forest, which couldn't exist without its magic. The touch of a wizard's staff was deadly, and burnt-out patches were a common sight back when they were still allowed in the forest.

Behelak was flexing his hand, his eyes faintly distant. "How I hated that thing," he murmured, more to himself that to her. "It hurt to touch it. It actually _hurt_. When I was small, I used to cry in relief whenever I put it down. Sometimes, when it was particularly loaded with magic, it would take me days to recover from handling it. My father used to scold me, and tell me that I needed to be stronger, but after a while he just gave up. He eventually figured out the same thing I did; that this hand just wasn't meant to wield a staff."

He looked at his own hand, still slim but darker than it used to be from working in the sun. Vanora looked, too, and had a feeling that if they ever tried wrestling again, she didn't have a prayer. Behelak lowered his hand to his side and smiled ruefully. "When we got ourselves kicked out of the forest, I practically leapt for joy. I was able to use sneaking around as an excuse for dropping that horrid thing. Not that the forest itself was much better, mind you. All that humming and buzzing in the air would give me a headache. Sometimes I would come across a patch that would rattle me to the bone."

Vanora thought back to the invisible flow of magic the permeated the forest, how it hummed and sang in the air. Only someone sensitive to it would even notice. From the way he described it, Behelak was a little _too_ sensitive to magic. The touch of the Enchanted Forest had never been unpleasant to her, and neither was casting any sort of spell, witch-like or otherwise. Someone who found the touch of magic painful had no business casting spells.

"This place is so different," he went on, his eyes drifting to the plants that grew in front of Zanthia's cottage. "It has a rhythm of its own, but it doesn't sting. My mind has never been so open and clear; I can finally hear their voices."

Vanora gave a puzzled frown. "Who's voices?"

Behelak swept a hand around them. "Their's, of course," he said softly. "All the trees and the little things that nest and burrow in them. Everything that lives has a voice, you know. It's just a matter of being able to listen. The magic of the Enchanted Forest was too heavy, too loud; I couldn't hear them there. Now I can speak to and understand them all."

Vanora was quiet as she thought about stories she used to hear of people who could speak to plants and animals, even the ones that weren't enchanted, but that wasn't a skill she ever heard a wizard possessing.

_He isn't a wizard_, she realized with a jolt. _Not anymore._

"I can even understand a few things I'm not supposed to," he added. "Like a witch's cat."

"Oh," said Vanora, understanding how Doyle had been able to deliver a message to him now. She wet her lips and tried to keep her voice even as she spoke again. "You're really staying, aren't you."

Behelak nodded slightly. "I can be myself now," he told her. "I've finally figured out who I'm supposed to be."

He was looking at her hard now, and Vanora knew what he was going to say before he opened his mouth again. It made her chest tighten and her hands tremble.

"Did you ever think that maybe—just maybe—the road of a great and powerful witch...just isn't the road for you?"

Vanora didn't reply. She kept her eyes glued to her boots, knowing that if she looked up at him or tried to speak she would start to cry. She tried to swallow down the lump in her throat and failed. Her eyes grew moist.

Behelak moved closer to her, his voice quiet as he leaned near her ear. "I'm not going to ask you to stay. All I want is for you to look in your heart and do what you _want_ to do, and not what anyone else—including you—_thinks_ you should do."

Vanora forced herself to nod and continued to stare down at her toes. The soft pressure of his hand on her face finally made her lift her eyes. His own blue orbs were studying her face, as if he were trying to memorize it.

"Take care of yourself, Nor," he whispered, and leaned forward to touch his lips to her temple.

He moved away, his hand slipping from her face. Vanora found herself reaching for it as he turned to go, but it was already beyond her grasp. She watched him start down the path that lead out of the swamp. He was soon swallowed up by the deep shadows, out of her sight.

Out of her life.

"Bel," she called out, heart racing.

Her ears strained for a reply, but the only sounds were the quiet gurgles of swamp water and the whisper of trees in the wind. Vanora turned slowly back to the door--and stopped as movement caught her eye. Faun was standing near the corner of the cottage; silent tears were streaming down his round cheeks. Vanora felt the battle against her own tears give way. She barely noticed them spill down her face as she took a step toward him, hand outstretched, but Faun turned and disappeared into the underbrush. As Vanora went back inside, she thought she heard a sob carried on the breeze.

She crossed the floor and stood in front of the mirror again. Her heart ached too much to feel surprised by what she saw; apparently, her foggy mind had still been enough for the mirror to respond. An image of the Enchanted Forest reflected back to her. She was looking at her own home, overgrown grass waving in the breeze. She almost thought she could smell flowers and pine trees. All she had to do now was imagine herself in that place and she would be there.

Vanora wiped her eyes and thought about what it would like to be home. She would reintroduce herself to the handful of witches she knew by name and explain where she had been for nearly two months and why. They might be surprised for a little while, but life would soon resume as usual. There would be meetings to attend, festivals to enjoy, herbs and flowers to gather. Her alchemy would have to be abandoned, not to mention everyone she knew in Kyrandia. She would go back to her tiny cabin tucked at the back of the woods, with no one to bother her and only her books to keep her company. How perfect.

Perfectly impossible.

"Zanthia," she said, turning away from the mirror.

The alchemist looked up from her work. "What's the matter?"

Vanora glanced away, fidgeting with her skirt as she struggled for the right words. "I know," she began, faltering, "that you worked awfully long and hard on this..."

Zanthia raised an eyebrow. "But?"

"But..."

Vanora fidgeted again. "But I don't know if I quite want to use it yet. Maybe you could put it away, just for now?"

Zanthia didn't answer right away. For a moment she just looked at her, her expression solemn and unreadable. But as she stood up from her desk, there was a hint of a smile in her eyes. "I suppose I could always make room in the back of my closet," she decided as she covered the mirror again.

Neither of them spoke as Zanthia put the mirror and the stand away, or when she came back and sat down at her desk again. They could clearly see what was on the others mind without words, and they were both thinking the same thing.

The enchanted mirror was never going to see the light of day again.


	21. Epilogue

**EPILOGUE**

Vanora paused what she was doing to close her eyes and take a deep, long breath of the evening air. When she looked down again, Faun was peering up at her, an impish grin in place.

"You like this town, don't you," he observed wryly.

Vanora thought about it for a moment as she looked past the little pier they were standing next to and out across the endless expanse of shimmering water that was in front of them. Off to the right was Darkmoor Swamp, straight ahead was the route to the castle, and to the left the water stretched out beyond the horizon, reaching seas and oceans and lands she had yet to see but hoped to someday. As she watched the bright red orb that was the sun drift lower in the sky, as though it were a great ball being dipped into the lake, she wondered if Faun wasn't right.

As much she loved the swamp, she suspected that she loved Morning Mist Valley just a little bit more. Maybe even enough to move here, one day.

She mentioned this out loud, and Faun gave a laugh as he bent to scoop up a stone from the pile at his feet. "I'm amazed you've managed to stay under the same roof as Zanthia all this time," he commented. He drew his chubby hand back and threw the flat stone; it skipped across the water twice before disappearing beneath the gentle waves.

Vanora smiled to herself as she picked a stone up from the soft sand and tossed it into the air thoughtfully. She knew that if she decided to stay in the swamp with the alchemist for the rest of her life, neither of them would mind, but she still wanted to find her own place someday soon. She was used to living alone, but moving to Morning Mist would be a whole different experience. She would still have a house to herself, but her neighbors would be mere feet away instead of miles.

With a sigh of contentment, she tossed her stone and watched it bounce across the waves. She counted four times before it sank into the center of the red reflection of the setting sun. "Show off," muttered Faun.

Vanora chuckled for a moment, then glanced up at the docks as voices caught her attention. Faun looked, too, ears twitching. A group of men were heading to one of the recently docked ships, and Vanora recognized them as the usual unloading crew.

"Isn't he that wizard-guy?" asked Faun, pointing to the blue-clad blonde near the rear of the group.

Vanora nodded wordlessly. Behelak didn't notice either of them as he followed his companions to the end of the pier, laughing easily as he joked with the other men. Vanora felt her cheeks start to warm as she openly admired how the sun lit his face and hair with red-gold light, but she didn't really care anymore.

"Say, he doesn't know that you decided to stay, does he?"

Shaking her head, Vanora turned and started climbing up the sandy bank to the pier. "He sure doesn't. I think I'll go surprise him."

As she ran barefoot down the pier, Faun noted to himself that, with her hair pushed back with one of Zanthia's headbands and wearing the dress she just bought, Vanora looked very much in place.


End file.
